


It's How You Play The Game

by fairy911911



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crime Drama, Detective Castiel, Human Castiel, M/M, Murder Mystery, Non-Hunter Winchesters, Plot, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3118019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairy911911/pseuds/fairy911911
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel was lead on one of the most important cases the Chicago Police Department had ever seen: the capturing of long time fugitive John Winchester for the murder of his wife twenty years prior. But as he interrogates John's son Dean as a witness, Castiel discovers that there might be more to this case than just a simple domestic murder. The two must work together to find the real killer, and both get sucked into something bigger than they could imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarlettandblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettandblue/gifts).



> I know very little about actual workings of the Chicago Police Force and FBI, most of my knowledge comes from the TV show Castle but I did my best to research it. I apologize in advance if it is horribly off.
> 
> This work is unbeta'd, so I apologize in advance for whatever spelling errors I probably missed while editing this myself.
> 
> I do not own Supernatural or the characters, only the words.

Castiel always hated the morning commute in the city. Rows of cars covered the asphalt, protecting the black roadways from the light November snowfall. The first snowfall of the year in fact. Castiel switched on his windshield wipers in an attempt to keep his view from being obstructed, but the action only resulted in the flakes being pushed and smeared across the glass.

The traffic wasn’t so much at a standstill that one could call it a traffic jam, but he was still only making a few blocks every ten minutes. He sighed before taking a sip his piping hot black coffee, waiting for the light to turn green.

Even with the nightmare of a morning commute, Castiel couldn’t help the contented feeling that had settled over him since the night before. After twenty years of being on the run, murderer John Winchester was finally apprehended by police forces in downtown Chicago after a man had called 911 for an attempted assault and robbery. The criminal was now being held the first precinct, Castiel’s second home. One of the most wanted men in America was finally off the streets, and it was Castiel and his team that caught him. And thanks to some forceful cooperation the night before, John gave them the location he and his son had been staying at.

Castiel was forced home by the captain to get a few hours of sleep before returning for the witness interrogation. It was still unclear if Dean Winchester was at fault for any criminal activity, but that was almost irrelevant. Winchester had been at his father’s side for twenty years and would be the most valuable witness in the man’s trial. This was all assuming Winchester would talk, but Castiel wasn’t worried about that. One didn’t become detective by not getting results.

He pulled up to the station, rushing to claim the open stop only a few paces away from the bright blue doors. The moment he opened his car door a wall of cold wind hit his skin. For all the things Castiel liked about Chicago, its autumn and winter weather was not one of them. He wrapped his worn trench coat around his body, clutched his coffee a little tighter, and thanked God that he only had to take a few steps before entering the warmth of the station.

Officers swarmed around him, filing in and out of offices and doors, already busy with the new day. A few gave him a congratulatory smile or pat on the back, which he accepted with a polite nod of recognition as he continued down to his desk in the homicide department. He was too busy for chats.

“Detective Novak,” a high-pitched voice called out. He turned to see the petite frame of Officer Hael Phipps slide up beside him. “Detective Masters is waiting for you outside interrogation room 3 with Dean Winchester inside. She’s been keeping an eye on him for you, but so far he’s done nothing.” She passed him a file with Dean Winchester’s information inside.

He flipped it open, scanning over the documents. Unsurprisingly, they held very little. He glanced up to see Hael still standing in front of him, an expectant look on her face. He coughed awkwardly. “Thank you, Hael. You may go.” She gave him a quick smile before hurrying off.

Castiel let out a quiet sigh as she left. The department had gotten a large amount of new recruits last winter, all bright eyed and straight out of training. He assumed that, everyone being adults, there would be regular co-worker relations between everyone. But Hael had been a different case, taking to Castiel and the rest of the detectives as a kindergartener would to their teacher. He honestly couldn’t explain it.

He found Meg right where Hael said she would be, leaned up against the side of the interrogation room and staring through the observation window at the supposed Dean Winchester inside. When she spotted Castiel a slow smile spreading across her lips. “Enjoy your beauty rest, Clarence?”

He elected to ignore the jab and nickname he never fully understood. “You sent Hael after me?” he questioned.

Meg just shrugged. “Had to do something with her. She was bugging me.”

“Shouldn’t Anna be watching her?”

“You haven’t heard?” Castiel shook his head. Meg huffed. “Anna demanded to be switched with someone less ‘positively mind numbing.’ ” She did her best impression of Anna’s higher, frail voice, completely missing the mark. “Anna got Hester and Hael got put with Rachel, who I think is out on vacation for the week and unfortunately can’t keep her away from me. Figured we might as well put her to use if she’s gonna bug us.”

“You know, she’s not actually an intern,” he stated.

Meg smirked. “If she’s gonna act like one then she’s gonna work like one.”

Castiel studied her, taking in the dark suit, badge around her neck, and messy bun finally falling apart. His eyes softened. “I still can’t believe you make fun of them this much. You were there a few months ago.”

“I was never that needy,” she shot back. Which was true. Meg was the most determined officer to come on the force, always out to prove to the world she possessed better instincts and drive than anyone else out there. It was how the two of them had become friends. Well, that and Meg’s determination to keep talking to him no matter what.

Meg smoothed out her pencil skirt. “I’m just glad I never have to wear one of those stupid blue uniforms ever again.” She let out a long yawn and reached over to Castiel. His coffee was plucked from his hand.

“Hey,” he grunted as she took a long sip from his cup. “That’s mine.”

“Well I need it, and you can get another cup after the interrogation.”

He had almost forgot that was what he was supposed to be doing. He turned his attention to the boy on the other side of the window. He hadn’t gotten a good chance to look at him the night before. The boy leaning back in the room’s metal chair, obviously bored out of his mind, couldn’t be older than twenty-five. Everything about him was rumpled and worn, from his bedhead to clothes he had when they had escorted him to the station. “Right. How was our guest last night?”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Comfortable enough to flirt with everything in the precinct.” Cas shot her a glare to be serious. “He hasn’t said or done anything. I think he doesn’t really know what’s going on.”

“Let’s just hope it’s an act. We really need him.”

Castiel felt a hand clasp his shoulder. He turned to see Meg smiling at him. “You got this, Clarence.”

He gave her a soft look before entering the interrogation room. The boy’s head shot up to stare at Castiel. A coy smirk played on his lips.

“Well, hello there. Dean Winchester,” he drawled, playfully wagging his eyebrows at the detective.

Castiel stared at him, unfazed. “I’m aware.” Dean gave an amused huff, but kept silent. “My name is Castiel Novak. I’m the detective heading the case against your father.”

Winchester’s face dropped and his eyes hardened. “You’re the son of a bitch that arrested my dad.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your father’s a wanted criminal. It’s our job to stop him.”

“And, apparently, anyone they’re related to.”

Castiel sat down in the chair opposite of Dean. “No, Mr. Winchester, you’re here to help us confirm events and fill in timeline gaps.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

He opened the file and nudged it towards Dean. “On November 2nd, 1994, Mary Winchester was killed in a house fire started by her husband, John.”

“No”

“He along with their two children, Dean and Samuel, survived, but fled the crime scene to escape custody.”

“No.”

“Mr. Winchester has been on the run ever since-”

“No!”

“-until he was apprehended by officers late last night after he assaulted a Chicago citizen.

“No!” The metal table shook as Dean slammed his hands on it. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. Castiel only gave the faintest smile. It was much easier to manipulate people when they became emotional. He was almost surprised it was that easy.

He leaned back slightly and opened his arms in an inviting gesture. “Then why don’t you explain what happened?”

Dean glowered at Castiel, his jaw twitching slightly. “My dad didn’t kill my mom,” he finally spoke. “That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, “I can’t just take your word for it. There’s evidence against your father.”

“No there’s not!” he snapped. “You have nothing. That’s why you’re blaming this on him.”

Castiel grabbed the file and flipped to a few of the sheets in the back. “There are many witness accounts describing Mr. and Mrs. Winchester as having a ‘strained relationship’ and were ‘constantly fighting.’ ” He added air quotations for effect. Dean remained silent while he continued to glare at him. “And your father did abduct you and your brother before hurriedly leaving the area without a trace.”

“Yeah, well, we weren’t running from you.”

Castiel was not expecting to hear that. He assumed Dean Winchester would try to pin this on some third party or accidental mishap, but to say they were escaping from something else? That was surprising.

Dean must have realized the gravity of what he said. He body became rigid. His face became pale.

“Whom would you be running from?” Dean shrunk back as Castiel leaned in closer.

“I’m not gonna say.”

“Then there’s no reason to believe you.”

Dean shifted in his seat, but otherwise remained silent. His fingertips scratched the surface of the table and his quiet breathing quickened. Castiel knew it was a waiting game. One of them would have to crack, and Dean was already on edge.

Castiel didn’t know how many minutes he waited, but finally Dean spoke again. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that my dad was caught trying to hurt someone now?”

It had been on his mind. The man had managed to keep a low profile for twenty years. Why risk getting caught by coming to a major metropolitan area with a well connected police force? Why did he even go after the man who had eventually disarmed and disabled him? Castiel had wanted to ask the victim about the attack, but the man had fled by the time forces had come.

“I assume he had a good reason,” he remarked.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, Detective, think.”

If Dean was bringing it up, it had to be relevant to the cold case. “He was there the night of the murder.”

“Bingo,” Dean said drily. “So, why don’t you call up the guy who made the claim and end this meeting.” He began to rise before Castiel stopped him with a look.

“We never got any personal information besides the name Mark Rolston and a location. He was gone when we arrived.”

“Mark Rolston?” Castiel nodded a confirmation. Dean’s head fell back as he groaned. “Ever think that maybe, just maybe, that guy wasn’t too trustworthy? Or that maybe that wasn’t his real name?”

“He gave us an alias?”

“Of course he fucking did. If you’re caught in something with my dad you’re not giving your name to the police.” Dean gaped at him. “You call yourself a detective?” he bolting from his seat. “How are you so fucking incompetent?”

Castiel didn’t remember moving, but the next thing he knew he had Dean Winchester shoved against the wall of the interrogation room, his full body weight pressing on the other man and arm putting pressure on his neck.

“I’m head detective at this precinct,” he growled. “I’ve solved fifteen murders this year alone. I’m the leader of the case against your father. And I have the ability to hold you here for forty-eight hours without cause.” He glared up at Dean’s wide eyes. “You should show me some respect.”

He could feel Dean’s heartbeat quicken and body tremble against him. The image of a whining child who had just been scolded by his parents flashed in his mind. He pushed it aside and himself off of Dean. Castiel had let his cards show, expressed petty anger in a witness’ presence. He was an idiot.

Castiel took a calming breath before continuing. “You obviously know who the man was and how he connects the Mary Winchester’s murder. Stop playing games and tell me who killed her.”

They were still unsettlingly close, practically breathing each other’s air.

Dean shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You just have to trust me.”

“You’ve given me no reason to,” Castiel said in a low voice.

Dean glared at him like a wounded animal would to a human. Castiel could see through his hardened exterior. Beneath it all Winchester was terrified. His eyes pleaded for the detective to stop.

“I’m risking what safety my family has left by even being here,” he hissed. “I say anything and we could be done for.”

“Then you have to trust me.” Castiel carefully placed one hand on Dean’s shoulder. He tensed under the touch, but surprising did nothing to remove the hand. Dean tongue ran over his bottom lip. “It’s my job to help people, and if you are in danger then I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.” He gave Dean’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “But I can’t do anything unless you tell me what’s going on.”

Dean finally broke eye contact with him, casting his eyes downward as he absentmindedly chewed on his lower lip. At this point Cas had to wait for Dean to open up.

The other man took a deep breath in through his nose, still unable to meet Castiel’s gaze. “My mom was killed by the Demons.”

Castiel shoved Dean against concrete wall, eliciting a satisfying cry of pain from the Winchester. “I thought we were through playing games.”

“I’m not lying!” Dean shouted. He finally looked back to meet Castiel’s glare.

Castiel was hardly able to believe someone would be stupid enough to attempt to blame a murder on the Demons. They were technically a criminal organization closer to a type of mafia, but more recent urban bomb scares and mass murders had led Castiel to personally define them as a terrorist organization. They were older than him, stretching across every corner of the country and possibly beyond. Despite being such a well-known name, next to nothing was known about the inner workings of the group. The government had little more than a few high up names and a list of incidents that were confirmed as being their handiwork. They strived towards a state of total fear and chaos, and it seemed as if they desired little else.

“Your mother was high profile enough for the Demons to come after her?”

“Frederic Azazel was there that night!” he yelled. “My dad saw him. He’s been going after them for my mom.” He pushed back against Castiel and the detective stumbled back. “My dad wasn’t robbing some guy. He found out one of Azazel’s higher ups was in Chicago - Alastair something-or-other, started with an ‘h’ - and was hunting him down to get information on Azazel, the group. My dad didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Heyerdahl?” he breathed.

Dean blinked at him, as if that was the least likely response Castiel could have given him. “What?”

“His name? Alastair Heyerdahl?”

“Yeah, that sounds right,” he nodded. “Something German like that.”

Castiel studied him for a long time, taking in every gesture, every eye movement for any sign of dishonesty. He was anxious, that much was obvious by the restless fingers and shallow breathes. But his movements weren’t shifty. He was grounded and his pleading eyes never left Castiel’s. His arms hung down at his side, ready for whatever Castiel was going to throw at him.

He only flinched when Castiel turned without warning and headed towards the exit. “I’ll be right back,” he called back as the heavy metal door clicked shut behind him. Meg was still leaning against the observation window, but this time with the addition of a raised eyebrow.

“Watch him,” Castiel ordered as he stormed past her.

“Oh, I love when you get all dominating on me,” she said sarcastically, but Castiel had already removed her from the forefront of his mind.

Azazel, being the head of the organization, was a well-known name, in the same way every household in America understood the weight behind the names Al Capone and Osama Bin Laden. Dean could have picked up the idea of Azazel being part of the murder from anywhere.

But Alastair Heyerdahl wasn’t Azazel. Known members were not common knowledge by any stretch of the word. Many officers couldn’t recite all the names on the list. Only those who had worked a case relating to the group would have that information. Now he might be able to overlook that statement as someone who did their research for a back up plan - he wouldn’t put it past the Winchesters to try such a thing - but Dean knew the first name. That was too intimate an answer for Castiel to shrug off as nothing.

He didn’t know if he believed Dean, but he was sure there was something bigger than a simple domestic murder charge, and he wasn’t ready to close the case just yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean didn’t know how long he had been sitting in the cold room. Long enough to finally begin feeling the effects of a near sleepless night. His limbs felt as if they were weighted down and he wanted nothing more than to lean his head on the table and pass out. He placed a finger on the freezing metal. That was never gonna happen. Detective Novak probably wouldn’t let him sleep anyway. It’s just another one of his tortures.

The man had to harass him and his dad, kidnapping him in the middle of the night. He probably didn’t even have a warrant. The more he thought about it, the surer he was. The whole operation had to be illegal, and Dean wasn’t going to stand for. Next chance he got he was going to call up Sam. He’d know how to get out of this.

Dean was seriously considering curling up on the cool concrete floor when the door swung open, revealing a disgruntled Detective Novak carrying what appeared to be his own duffle bag - the one he left at the motel. Somehow Novak looked more pissed off than before. Dean refused to admit Novak was even hotter when angry.

“You have everything?” he asked in what Dean had come to assume was his usual gruff voice. He nodded and Novak motioned for him to follow.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Novak didn’t answer.

Dean trailed behind him as they made their way through the precinct. It was brighter than when he had been forced through the area a few hours ago. Now he could see that the building was packed, filled to the top with cops running around. The constant stream of noise surrounding him was a welcome change from the oppressive silence he had been forced to sit through.

He was so distracted by the cops around him that he didn’t notice Novak stop in front of him. The two stumbled forward, and when the detective turned around to speak to him Dean could see the daggers in his eyes.

“Just please stand here for one minute and not do anything.” It wasn’t a request. It was a demand.

He turned away from Dean to address a pretty girl typing away at her desk. “Hael, I need you to get me every file on Mary Winchester you can. Forward the files to my email.”

“Okay, Detective Novak,” she nodded before resuming her work.

Novak returned his focus to Dean. “Let’s go,” he ordered. He pushed Dean in front of him so that he was always being watched. It pissed him off, but to be fair he would have done the same thing if he was in the detective’s position. He’d been itching to get away ever since he had been taken last night.

Officer Novak led him out of the building into the freezing Chicago wind and snow. He remembered complaining about that stupid trait of the city last night, before everything had gone down. It suddenly occurred to him he hadn’t seen his dad yet. The old man could be dead for all he knew.

He stopped dead in his tracks, causing Novak to walk into _him_.

“What now?” Novak groaned.

“Where’s my dad?” he demanded, turning to face the slightly shorter man.

Novak gave an exasperated sigh. “Your father is safe at the station.”

“I wanna see him.”

“Not until we sort out this whole mess.”

Both men narrowed their eyes. It was a stand off. Dean despised the idea of backing down to a cop, but as their staring match went on, he began to realize the pointlessness of the whole affair. Detective Novak wasn’t going to stand down to him.

“At least tell me where we’re going?”

The smallest trace of a smile flitted across Novak’s lips. He almost appeared human. “My home.”

Dean had to take a moment for his entire being to process that information. “Why?”

“The captain believes that you are no longer safe being on your own, and the only place at the precinct suited with overnight facilities are the cells.” The smile transformed into the most well hidden smirk Dean had ever witnessed. “I did suggest that option when the plan was being made, but I was informed that this operation could take longer than forty-eight hours, and without arresting you we would have no jurisdiction to do so.”

The smirk disappeared from his lips entirely, and the familiar professional stoicism returned to his features. “Captain Naomi Tapping has decided you will be my charge until the case is finished.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!” Dean backed away from Novak, placing his hands up instinctively, as if that were a way to push everything back. “I didn’t sign up for a baby sitter.”

“And I didn’t want to be one, but I assure you there is no choice in the matter.” His eyes lit up with a momentary spark that Dean could only describe as captivating. The sheer intensity seemed to make his blue eyes glow like cool fire. But it was gone as soon as it came. “Normally I would accompany you to your own home to provide protection, but since we found you in a motel room Tapping and I assumed there was no permanent home to go to. Is that correct?”

He was taken back by the detective’s almost dueling personality. There were moments when Dean really could believe there was something interesting and passionate within the cop, but then he reverted back to some sort of factory default setting. Utter blandness.

Dean nodded his head, which Novak took as a suitable answer. “My house is the safest place.”

With that Novak gave him a pointed look, as if to say _so let’s get in the car and go_. Dean rolled his eyes, but trudged to the Lincoln nonetheless. The calm of the car’s interior was a warm welcome from the hell outside. Novak seemed to agree, giving a sigh of relief when he finally plopped down into the seat after throwing the bag in the back. The engine and heater roared to life and the police radio he must have installed crackled on, and after one final look to confirm that, yes, Dean was actually in the car, the two headed off into the maze of the city.

An oppressive silence surrounded them, suffocating any chance of conversation. They slowly made their way through the bustling streets, still cramped with cars and buses despite it being only slightly past ten. He dropped his head back as they yet again were forced to sit through another cycle of lights at an intersection. How anyone could like life in the city he would never understand. Everything demanded you to be faster, but everything else forced you to slow to a hault. Dean stole a glance at Castiel; he didn’t even seem fazed. This was torture.

When they finally made it over the river, Dean found the courage to try to start a conversation with Novak. “So, Detective,” he drawled, “where do you live?”

“A small greystone on the north side,” he answered, eyes still locked on the road. “Do you know where DePaul University is?”

Dean shook his head. “No.”

Novak quickly wrinkled his nose. “It’s near there.”

The car once again lapsed into silence. Dean took the time to observe the streets around him. Now that they were out of the downtown area, Dean could see how the massive skyscrapers and chrome-plated buildings were replaced with rows of identical houses and stores squished together without room to breathe. He sighed. Even in the residential parts of the city there was no room.

“You don’t have to call me Detective.”

Castiel’s voice cut through his thoughts. He swiveled to face the other man who still refused to meet his eye. “You can call me Castiel,” he offered softly.

Dean had almost forgotten the other man had a first name. Castiel. It was weird as fuck and sounded like something a hippie would name their baby girl, but he kept that to himself. “Okay,” was all he said in response.

It was several more minutes before the car finally slowed to a stop and Dean was able to study where he was going to be living for who knows how long. The trees were bare and taupe, and the ground was covered in a light blanket of snow. When mixed with the grey buildings and black asphalt, it seemed as if the entire world had been stripped of color. Maybe it had.

Dean grabbed his bag as he headed out of the car and followed Castiel to a house a few buildings down. It’s worn exterior only added to Dean’s hatred of the place. Castiel led him up the short set of stair before entering through the wooden door.

The first thing Dean noticed was that the house was only a fraction warmer than outside. The guy probably left the heating on only to make sure the pipes didn’t burst, but didn’t care to actually heat the home. Around him the furniture looked stiff and sparse, barely filling the already small space. Down the hall in front of him was a wooden table with chairs, and Dean could only assume the kitchen was that way. To his left a flight of stairs that probably led to the upstairs bedrooms.

Castiel had chosen to stop in the middle of the front room to study Dean. Probably to gauge his reaction to being here.

Dean answered Castiel’s silent question with a noncommittal shrug. “I guess it’s okay.” Really, it could be worse. Memories of old motel rooms with leaking roofs and backed up plumbing flashed in his mind.

Dean pointed at the long couch taking up most of the front room. “I’m taking that’s where I-”

“There’s a spare room upstairs,” Castiel cut him off.

Dean met his eyes again before Castiel gave an awkward cough and turned to climb the stairs. Dean silently followed.

The second floor only had two doors on opposite sides of the short hallway. Castiel stepped into the one on the left, motioning for Dean to follow. The open room had an old queen bed shoved into the far corner and a matching dresser lined up against the back wall. Two windows let some light into the dim room while simultaneously giving him a perfect view of the alley behind the building. On the opposite side of the room was a bookshelf and desk. The room was probably Castiel’s office.

“Bathroom is through there.” Castiel pointed behind him to the door on the empty wall.

Dean entered the space, taking in the blandness of the white plaster walls and same generic bedspread he had seen his whole life. He threw his bag on the bed before sitting down beside it. Castiel remained in the center of the room. Somehow, with his oversized trench coat and rigid movements, he seemed dwarfed in his own home.

“If you need anything-”

“Yeah, how long am I here?” Dean demanded. It came out harsher than intended, but he couldn’t really care.

Castiel stiffened at the question. “Until the case is finished.”

“How long’s that gonna be?”

“I don’t know,” he grunted before sighing. “So we’ll just have to get used to it.”

Dean was about to retaliate when a shrill ringing went off. Castiel dug through his coat’s pockets until he produced his smart phone buzzing wildly in his hand. “Novak,” he answered gruffly.

Dean couldn’t understand what the person on the other end was saying - it was almost like they were whispering into the phone - but could note the high-pitched and wavering quality. It sounded a bit like the cop Castiel had talked to before they left the station.

“What?”

Castiel’s near shout rang through the room. Castiel squinted at the caller as if she was in the room. Both paused as the voice on the other end continued.

“There’s nothing?” he questioned. Dean mouthed ‘what’ and Castiel held up his hand as if to shush him. Dean rolled his eyes at the pointless gesture. “I surely have the jurisdiction... What about Naomi?” She gave a short response while Castiel gave an exasperated sigh. “Captain Tapping.” The voice continued for a long time. Castiel sank down into the desk chair, rubbing his free hand down his face. “No, it’s not your fault,” he grimaced. “You did everything you could... It’s fine, Hael. I’ll figure something out.” Hael tried to say something else, but Castiel cut her off with a “Goodbye,” and hung up. He tossed the phone on the desk.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel, inviting him to explain what had just happened. Castiel returned the look with a glare, not at Dean in particular, but it seemed to be more of a general hatred of the current universe. “I can’t get access to your mother’s files.”

“What?”

“Someone has restricted access to your mother’s files. It’s above anyone at the precinct. Even the Captain can’t read them.” Castiel slumped down into his chair as Dean sat up.

“So, what, you’re just giving up?” There was no way this pig headed asshole was letting the case go that easily.

“No,” he replied. “I’m trying to decide who will be least upset by my asking of a favor.

Apparently, Castiel believed that statement didn’t need context, and took no measures to explain himself. He continued to stare off into space as Dean glared at him. “Care to explain what you meant by that, Columbo?” he eventually asked.

Castiel reached for his phone. “I have a few friends in the FBI who might be able to gain access to the records.” He tapped his phone and brought it up to his ear.

“Whatever you thing’s gonna work,” Dean mumbled.

“Hello Jody, it’s Castiel.”

The voice on the end was deafening loud, and Dean was able to hear the dialogue from a few feet away. _“And what do I owe the pleasure?”_ she drawled.

“I need you send me over some files. Mary Winchester. Lawrence, Kansas. Would have been from about 20 years ago. I can’t get access to them.”

 _“You know,”_ Jody sighed, _“I do have my own cases I need to solve.”_

“This is a big one,” Castiel pleaded. “I could be taking down Azazel and the Demons.”

Dean felt his jaw tighten at the comment. Yeah it could stop that living nightmare, but the only reason he was risking himself on this case was to free his dad and clear his name. And Castiel apparently couldn’t be bothered to care about his family.

 _“You found something to charge him with?”_ she exclaimed.

Castiel shook his head. “Not yet, but I might. If I get the file.”

There was a pause on the other end. _“You owe me, Novak.”_

“Thank you, Jody.”

_“Well, I can probably put Donna on it. She likes research.”_

A warm express crossed Castiel’s lips. “And how is your partner doing.”

Dean couldn’t make out what Jody mumbled next, but whatever it was made Castiel snort.

“Goodbye, Jody.” She gave her salutations before the line went dead. Castiel squinted at the phone probably telling him Jody had hung up on his ass. Dean smirked.

Castiel stood up and faced Dean. “We need to do research on the Demons and Azazel. I haven’t looked into the group in a few years and information could have changed.”

Dean could feel all the energy drain from his body. He remembered the jobs with his dad. Research was always the worst part, but he had been stuck on that aspect of it until Sammy was old enough to watch himself. There was no way he was getting sucked back into that.

“Look, I didn’t get any sleep last night, and I need my four hours to function.”

Castiel only tilted his head to the side and squinted, as if sleep was some foreign concept. “Dean, this is important.”

“So you can do it while I get some shut eye.” Castiel continued to stare at him like he was some alien. Dean rolled his eyes. “At least start it and I’ll join you later.”

That seemed to satisfy Castiel enough. He begrudgingly began his exit, only stopping once at the door. “I am sorry this happened to you,” he muttered, “but we need to work together. Projecting our frustration of the situation on each other isn’t going to help.” With that, he walked out and trudged down the stairs.

Dean tried not to focus on Castiel’s message. The dude arrested his dad and dragged him into it, so the whole situation _was_ his fault. There was no reason he had to be nice to the dick.

Dean eyed the bed. He really was exhausted. He pushed the duffle bag to the ground and stripped down to his tee and underwear. He fell into the warmth of the bed with a moan. It may have looked like the standard motel beds he was so accustomed to, but it felt nothing like those worn things with the springs sticking out and questionable stains that will never leave. Castiel’s bed was soft and warm and clean. It was like laying on a cloud.

He knew Castiel was going to question him about his childhood; it was only a matter of time before the cat was out of the bag and his dad would be faced with a new set of charges. Maybe even Dean himself. He wasn’t ready for that.

A part of him hoped Castiel would understand, but he pushed the idea out of his mind. The guy was trying to be nice to him, but first and foremost he was a cop, and the moment Dean revealed any criminal activity the guy would turn on him. It was a shame he was so good looking. If Dean had met him at a bar he definitely would have tried to get him for the night. Maybe it was better they met under these circumstances: at least he wasn’t going to waste his time on a prick.

Dean felt himself drifting off, and he fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel honestly tried to work on the research, and he did get through a few hours of going over old files saved on his computer and scouring the police records and papers for anything new, but his mind kept wandering back to the man upstairs. It wasn’t like he wanted them to fight. After all, it would be much less painful if they would work together peacefully, but Dean didn’t seem to want to give him a chance. He was trying to be gracious: opening his home to him, getting his clothes, he was even letting a civilian work on the case with him. But nothing seemed to get Dean to warm up to him. It was incredibly frustrating.

He glanced to the clock on the microwave. 5:23. Dean should be waking up soon, and neither had had any food for the day. Perhaps the best way to win him over was with food. Castiel looked down at his computer and the open files about an office bombing two years ago. He had done enough research for the time being.

Castiel pushed himself out of his kitchen chair and made his way over to the fridge and pantry. At first glance there only seemed to be a couple boxes of noodles and ramen, a half eaten bag of cereal, one pack of hot dogs, cans of vegetables he couldn’t remember buying, and a bottle of milk sporting a suspicious expiration date. He didn’t make himself real meals all that often, but surely he had to have something of substance.

After a few minutes of repeatedly opening cupboard drawers he finally gave up his search of something better and accepted that the best course of action was to mix up some Kraft macaroni and cheese with sliced hot dogs thrown in and a side of canned green beans. It could be worse.

As he waited for the pots of water to heat up he heard thumping coming from up stairs. He allowed himself a small smile at the thought of a bleary-eyed Dean rolling out of bed with mussed hair and rumpled clothes. Although it was a strange sensation knowing someone else was in his home, Castiel couldn’t describe it as being unpleasant. It was actually a bit enjoyable cooking for someone else, having someone else to talk to. He shook his head as he poured the pasta into the boiling pot. He’s been alone for far too long.

Dean stumbled downstairs just as the macaroni was finishing up, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. The man stared at the kitchen. “What are you doing?” he asked flatly.

“Cooking,” he replied, forcing his eyes away from Dean’s form.

He could hear Dean come up behind him. His kitchen wasn’t small, but with Dean so close it felt all to cramped. Dean glanced at the pot with a raised eyebrow. “Mac and cheese?”

Castiel shrugged. “It was all I had.”

Dean sniffed before turning away. “I’ll cook tomorrow.”

He knew he should be offended, but the thought of Dean working in his kitchen brought a small smile to his face. Castiel jumped at the sound of clanking dishes. He turned to see Dean setting the table. It was actually a pleasant sight.

The two ate in silence, neither knowing what to say. Castiel wanted to question Dean about his father and his life during his childhood. Although it was possible John Winchester didn’t murder his wife, he was still sure the man wasn’t entirely innocent. He did do everything in his power to escape the law. But pressuring Dean to speak could shut him down completely.

Dean was already going for seconds when Castiel was only halfway through his plate. The man was ravenous, as if he never had a proper meal. It occurred to Castiel that he might not have.

“Is this enough?” he asked. Dean nodded as he stuffed another spoonful of macaroni in his mouth.

Silence fell over them again. A heavy tension hung over them - not one of angry but discomfort. There was so much Castiel wanted to know. And, perhaps, if he were able to get Dean talking now, he would be more complying when making a witness statement over the next few days. He understood Dean’s reluctance to discuss his past, but it was crucial to the case, and if the man had any hope of clearing his father’s name he had to start talking.

“Are you used to this much to eat?” he questioned softly and slowly. He had to be careful or risk losing all dialogue with Dean.

It wasn’t careful enough. The man stopped mid-bite, glaring at Castiel. “What?”

Castiel took a sip from his water before trying again. “In your childhood, was a full meal something you had often?”

“Why do you care?” Dean asked coolly.

“It’s my job to care,” he simply stated.

“No,” he shook his head, his voice slowly rising. “Your job is to find out who killed my mom and clear my dad’s name. I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

Castiel sat his fork down deliberately. “Your father is still a suspect and at the top of the list. And whether you like it or not, you _are_ a major part of this investigation. You and I have to begin treating you as such.”

“Oh, I get it now,” he sneered. “This was all some plot to get me to warm up to you before I talk.”

“I need to do my job.”

“Did you ever consider how wrong this all is?” Dean rose from the table. “You kidnap me, arrest my dad, and fucking expect me to help you? I didn’t ask for this!”

Castiel rose to meet him. “I didn’t ask to be stuck with you, either, but I’m making the best of the situation,” he snapped. “I suggest you start cooperating with me because I have no qualms about putting you in one of the precinct’s cells.”

He prayed Dean wouldn’t call his bluff. The man, while infuriating at the current moment, didn’t deserve to be treated like a criminal. And a part of Castiel wanted him to stay for very personal reasons. He was a source of entertainment, and it was nice to talk to some one.

Dean held his gaze, shooting daggers at him with his eyes. Neither one moved, as if afraid a single movement would start an all out war.  It was over a minute before Dean finally spoke in a low and jagged voice.

“Fine,” he spat, “but I’m not doing this without getting something in return.”

“You don’t get to bargain,” Castiel warned.

“Too bad. You want me to talk? You have to work with me.”

Castiel could feel his blood begin to boil. Why was he so affected by this one man? It was ridiculous. He was better than this; he deserved better than this. But it was becoming apparent that if he was to get anything from Dean he was going to have to concede.

He crossed his arms, keeping his eyes locked on Dean’s. “What do you want?”

A small smirk played over Dean’s lips. “You to answer some questions for me.”

“Why?” he demanded.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t think it’s fair that I don’t get to know anything about you.”

“That’s not how this works. I’m-”

“What? Better than me?” Dean spat. “Pretend like you aren’t.”

Castiel wanted to defend himself, to shout that not everyone in the police forced believed that, that he didn’t believe that. But it would have been a hopeless cause. Silence remained his best option.

Dean took his lack of response as consent to continue. “Look: I get to ask a question and then you get to ask me a question. We both have to answer honestly. Okay?” Castiel gave a reluctant nod, which Dean seemed to accept. “I also want to know where you keep your liquor. I’m not doing this thing sober.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but pointed to one of the top cupboards in his kitchen. “There should be an unopened bottle of wine up there from Christmas.”

He raised an eyebrow at Castiel. “You’ve let that thing sit around for a year?”

“No,” he squinted. “I believe it’s been closer to three.”

Castiel thought he heard Dean mutter “Jesus” under his breath as he went to fetch the bottle, but he could have imagined it. Castiel leaned back to grab a pen and notepad from a side table. It would be best to take some notes. Dean returned with two glasses and the bottle, the red bow still wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Castiel could still make out “Merry Christmas” in his sister’s neat scrawl. The pop of the dislodged cork and pouring liquid filled the silence of the room. Dean took a sip of the red liquid and pushed the empty glass towards Castiel.

“You shouldn’t have gotten me a glass,” he muttered. “I don’t really drink.”

Dean’s response was an over dramatic eye roll and the grabbing of the bow from the previously unopened drink. “Yeah, I figured. I’m not as dumb as you think,” he said as he unceremoniously dropped the ribbon in front of Castiel, a painful edge to his voice. He made a noncommittal gesture towards Castiel with the hand holding the glass. “It’s called being fucking polite in case you did want it.”

Castiel was mildly impressed with Dean’s observation. The boy was actually paying attention, which was nothing but a positive. It meant Dean would have been observing his father and the man’s actions and would be a more reliable witness.

Castiel opened his mouth to speak when Dean interjected. “I get to go first.” His face dropped in annoyance, but allowed Dean to continue.

The man took another swig of his drink. He pursed his lips as he seemed and scanned Castiel, as if he had yet to settle on a question. It was infuriating.

Dean’s gaze finally stopped on Castiel’s eyes, and he gave a slow smirk. “Does it ever get lonely being here?”

For all the possible questions Castiel had imaged Dean opening with, this was not one of them. He could feel his body retract instinctively.

“Why do you care?” he asked.

Dean only shrugged, the smirk still plastered on his face. “I get to ask whatever I want.”

The thought to slap Dean upside the head entertained him for a moment, but the urge quickly passed. Violence taken against Dean’s infuriating behavior would solve nothing.

He glanced around his home, so small and yet felt bare. “It feels ... empty, at times,” he answered. He didn’t truly have an answer. He wasn’t in the house enough to really consider it a home. It served as a place to sleep and eat and nothing more. Could one even consider it a home?

It didn’t matter. Dean had his answer, and now it was Castiel’s time to ask. “What happened on the night of your mother’s murder?” he questioned with a click of his pen. There was no use in beating around the bush.

“You know what happened,” Dean replied coolly.

“But I want to know what _you_ remember.”

Dean glared at him. The man’s jaw twitched and his fingers became restless against the wooden table.

“I don’t remember much,” he said quietly. “I woke up to screaming, but I’m not sure who’s. There was smoke everywhere and...” he gulped, “so much heat. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know what to do.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “My Dad found me, shoved Sammy in my arms, and told me to run, to get out.” Dean dragged a hand along his face.

Castiel didn’t dare speak or even write any notes, as not to frighten Dean. “I remember a lot of noise,” he admitted. “People - probably neighbors or something - screaming and fire trucks coming. I kept looking for my dad, but I didn’t know where he was. I think he was still inside trying to help my mom.” Dean like out a short, sour laugh. “I was freaking out. I had _no_ clue what was going on.”

Against his will Castiel could feel his eye’s soften at Dean’s words. “But your father did find you.”

Dean glanced down at the table. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Told me to get in the car. A few minutes later we drove off. I assume we stayed at a motel that night. I was too tired to really understand what was going on.”

“But did you know mother was gone.”

Dean shook his head. “Not until a few weeks later when I kept bitching about wanting to go home to mom. My dad told she was killed and we had to stay away from those people. He didn’t actually tell me who killed her for years.”

“The Demons?” Castiel asked drily.

He frowned. “Yes, the Demons. Now I think it’s my turn to ask another question.” Dean propped his head on one hand while the other drummed on the table. Castiel scribbled the new information as he waited for Dean to present him with a question. “Why the hell did your parents name you Castiel?” he finally asked with a furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong with my name?” Castiel couldn’t care if he sounded whiny or defensive. It was a rude question.

“It’s weird as fuck,” Dean replied. “What is it? French? Italian?”

“Enochian,” he responded drily.

“What?”

Castiel gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s the language of the angels. My parent’s were very religious and wanted to name my siblings - Michael and Hannah -  and I after them.” Castiel hoped Dean would avoid asking more about his parent’s or they’re motivation. He dreaded the idea of discussing them any further.

Luckily, he seemed more interested in something else. “Wait,” he said with a snort, “how did your siblings get normal names but you get the weird one?”

“Castiel is the angel of Thursday, the day of my birth,” he replied. “Same goes for Michael: he was named after the angel of Sunday. Hannah was also born on a Sunday, but for obvious reasons she could not be named after the angel. Although,” he mused as a small smile spread across his lips, “if Michael had not already been born I’m sure she would have been given that name.” Castiel felt his heart flutter when he saw Dean smile at his comment. “Instead she was named after the angel of December: Hanael.” That caused Dean’s eyes to widen to almost comedic size. “Needless to say,” Castiel continued, “she has since legally changed her name to Hannah.”

“And you never wanted to change your name?” Dean asked in all earnest.

Castiel shook his head. “No.” He paused. That wasn’t entirely true. “Well, yes, actually, years ago, but I don’t mind it anymore. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to worry about being beaten up for it.”

Dean frowned at the comment. “Sorry that happened.”

He waved away the apology. “You didn’t do anything, and, again, it happened years ago. I’m past it.” He really was. Granted, he still wouldn’t ever wish a name like his on anyone - people could be horribly cruel - but he had grown to accept it has his own. “It could have worse,” he admitted. “I could have been born on a Friday.”

“What would your name be?”

“Uriel,” he stated. A grin crept upon his lips at the sight of Dean’s shocked face, but broke into a full fledged beaming smile as the other man dissolved into a fit of laughter.

“Oh my God, you’re right,” he sputtered out between gasps of breath. “That is worse.”

It occurred to Castiel that he hadn’t seen Dean this happy or carefree, and it was a strange sigh, but not in a negative way. He felt a wave of content warmth wash over him. It was nice.

But as much as he enjoyed the moment they shared he needed to move on from the subject. He still had a job to do, and there was a purpose to this game. “To move on,” he said, not missing the dropping smile and eye roll from Dean, “your father escaped custody for twenty years. What was he doing during this time?” He had the notepad and pen positioned, ready for the other man’s answer.

Dean shrunk into himself, reaching back to rub a spot on the back of his neck. “It’s not that easy to explain.”

“Try.”

He took a steadying breath. “My dad... helped people.”

He glanced up at Dean, unimpressed. “Could you elaborate on that?”

“I’d rather not,” he muttered.

“Dean!” Castiel warned.

“Look,” he sighed, “my dad went into towns that had trouble - an unsolved murder or serial robber or something - and solved the cases. Me and Sam would get dropped off at some motel and new school for a while. He’d do some research, interview so folks, and catch the guy. Then move on to the next town.”

That wasn’t the expected answer. Not even close. “So to avoid the police, your father pretended to do their job?” His brow furrowed at the thought as he jotted down his notes.

Dean, apparently, couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the comment. “My dad caught the criminals your precious police force couldn’t find. He always left them alive and for the police to find, and he always got out before the cops showed up. He never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it.” Dean leaned forward so his arms propped him up on the table, forcing Castiel to meet his eye. “I know you wanna think otherwise, but my dad’s a good person.”

He rubbed his hand over his mouth and nose. “My turn.”

Castiel glared at him. There was so much he was avoiding, and it was exasperating trying to get him to reveal it.

Dean’s eyes scanned over Castiel. “So why did you become a cop?”

Castiel paused for a moment. “I never imagined doing anything else.”

A silence surrounded them again. Dean raised an eyebrow, “That’s it?” he asked. “There’s no other reason you became a cop?”

Well of course there was. Castiel had the expectations of his parents to live up to. He had always lived in his siblings’ shadows: Michael’s political interest and Hannah’s early attraction to the law. He never had a choice in the matter. Being an officer of the law was what was expected of him and nothing more. Not that he didn’t enjoy his job or get satisfaction from helping people and putting criminals behind bars. He did, but early on he was taught that the force was his only option.

But there was no way he was spilling this to Dean. No matter what the other man believed, this interrogation was about him, not Castiel.

“No,” he lied.

“Really?” Dean pressed. “Not because you like it? Or like having power? Or your parents made -”

“No!” he snapped. Dean flinched at the sudden outburst. Castiel knew he overreacted, but he couldn’t bother to apologize. He flipped to a new page in his notepad. “Your father seemed to often be gone. How did you and your brother make due?” His voice was steady and all business.

When Dean didn’t reply Castiel glanced up to see what the matter was. The other man’s skin had visibly paled and his eyes had widened considerably. He gulped before giving a small shake of the head. “I’m not gonna answer that.”

“You have to.”

“I’m not gonna self incriminate myself!” he exclaimed.

Whatever happened to Dean was probably illegal, but judging by Dean’s previous statements it seemed as if the actions, whatever they were, were not entirely his fault. Castiel was more than ready to place the blame on John Winchester. The answer to his question could incriminate Dean’s father for child abuse, which, if true, would be delightful in Castiel’s eyes. But Dean seemed worried about personal illegal activities, and Castiel would have no way to protect him. But if Castiel was caught withholding information he could be suspended, or even fired. He glanced at Dean, his hard eyes masking the fear in them. Although Dean was difficult and annoying at times, he didn’t deserve jail.

Castiel had to make a choice. He closed his pad and set it and the pen down on the table, pushing them far away from himself. He met Dean’s confused eyes, trying to convey all the comfort and understanding he could. “Whatever you say next is off the record,” he said slowly. “I want to know what happened.” The _because I care_ was left unsaid.

Dean eyed the notepad suspiciously. “Please,” Castiel begged. Dean’s gaze focused on him.

“Dad would leave me and Sam alone while he did a job,” he murmured, almost too soft to hear. “The older we got the longer he’d stay away.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It was always my job to take care of Sammy. You know, feed him, clothe him, get him to school.” Castiel nodded as he waited for Dean to continue.

Dean bit down on his lower lip as his gaze shifted to the wall, as if he was searching for the right words. “Money was already short, and sometimes we ran out before Dad would come back. I learned how to hustle pool at local bars - it was pretty easy since no grown man thinks he can get beaten by a thirteen year old kid. Pick pocketing had the same perks. It’s directly stealing food where you get in trouble.” Dean let out a bitter laugh, nothing more than a single huff of sour amusement. “One time I got caught and sent to a boys camp.” He shook his head. “My dad let me rot there, and just when I was starting to like the place he picked me up and we headed halfway across the country.”

Dean raised his arms half-heartedly before quickly dropping them to his thighs. “So there,” he said with a small shrug. “My secret is out.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. Dean had built it up as if he had murdered someone or robbed a bank. A few petty thefts were nothing compared to what Castiel had assumed he’d done. The man was ridiculous.

The only useful information that came out of that was that pertaining to John Winchester. It only confirmed his beliefs.

Castiel grabbed the pad and pen and furiously began scribbling down notes, despite Dean’s howl of disapproval. “You fucker! You said none of that was going on the record.”

Castiel could help but give an exaggerated sigh; his whole body sagging as he stared up at the ceiling, hoping someone above pitied him. “Although what you did was lawfully wrong, it’s hardly anything. At least one of the incidents is already on your record. You’re overreacting.”

He continued writing while Dean glared at him in defiance. “Besides,” he continued, “I’m completely avoiding any mention of your thefts in my notes, so our agreement is still being fulfilled. I am instead recording the child abuse your father inflicted.”

Dean gaped at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Castiel couldn’t believe how dense Dean could be. “Your father left you alone with little resources to be solely responsible for your brother who is - how much younger than you?”

“Four years.”

“Four years younger than you,” he repeated. “He forced you to be an adult. Dean, that’s abuse.”

“You know what?” Dean fumed. “I’m done with this question. My turn. Why do you have an extra bed in your office?”

Dean must have been extremely uncomfortable with his current situation to grasp at meaningless questions like that. It was infuriating to go back and forth. Why had he agreed to this?

“It’s for my sister, who stays here when she gets pulled into a case in Chicago,” he stated simply. “Has your father ever hit you?”

“Wow, Cas,” he drawled sarcastically. Castiel didn’t miss the nickname, but he elected to ignore it until later. “Getting right to the point, aren’t we?”

“Answer the question,” he demanded.

“Yes, he has,” Dean stated coolly, crossing his arms. Although he was still looking at Castiel, his focus became distant for a moment, as if he was somewhere else entirely. “But only when I deserved it, like letting Sam get into danger or not feeding him.” Dean squeezes his palms into almost fists before he comes back to the present, glaring at Castiel. “Every kid gets beaten and scolded. It’s no big deal.”

“Yes, it is, Dean!” Castiel slammed his hands on the table. He couldn’t take this anymore. “Your father has no right to hit you and abandon you. And the fact that you can defend him makes it that much worse.”

“He was a good man,” he defended.

“He was a horrible father,” Castiel shot back. “And trying to make you the parent is wrong.”

Dean smirked. “Well since you want to talk about parents, why don’t we discuss your own?” He puts on a mask of feigned pity. “Or is that too hard for you.”

Castiel snarled. “I have no business with them, and they are no longer part of my life. Why is John still in yours?” he begged. “Why didn’t you get away from him? Go to college and get a real life?”

Dean abruptly stood up, rocking the table with his movement and spilling what was left of the wine in Dean’s glass. “I’m finished,” he called back to Castiel as he hurried to the hall and up the stairs. Castiel could hear him take two at a time. He rushed to the base of the stairwell, but he could already hear the office door lock. No doubt he would do the same to the one opening to the shared bathroom.

Castiel fell back against the wall in defeat. There was no use in going after him. He wasn’t going to cooperate now, and he’d be lucky if the other man would within the next few days. Castiel rubbed his temple, soothing the headache he could feel coming. It was times like these he really wished he still drank.

After minutes of catching his breath and staring off into space, Castiel finally found the strength to trudge upstairs. And even when he lay down in his bed, it was hours before he drifted off into peace.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean had barely been able to catch a few hours of sleep. Most of the night was spent tossing and turning in the unfamiliar bed. And even when he did manage to go under he was awake a few minutes later. It was torture. Dean wanted to blame the insomnia on his earlier nap - the thing could have easily screwed up his internal clock - but his conscience knew better. The fight he and Castiel had played on repeat in his mind. Every word, tone, and gesture was analyzed.

He dragged a hand down his face. Rationally he knew why Castiel had pushed him, but Dean was better off never discussing that part of his life. It happened, and there was no reason to bring it up.

It was parts with his dad he couldn’t stand. He knew they hadn’t been the hallmark card kind of family, but his dad had always tried. Overall he was a good man and should be respected as one. Castiel couldn’t see him as anything but a criminal and would do anything to convict him. It was wrong of him, but, admittedly, it was kinda his job.

Dean had eventually removed himself from the warmth of the bed near five in the morning. It wasn’t like he had actually been sleeping. He’d wandered downstairs in search of some breakfast, only to discover there was practically nothing in the kitchen. Dean had rolled his eyes before rushing upstairs to grab his jacket and wallet. An hour later he had two bags of real food and was busy making eggs for the two of them.

Castiel stumbled downstairs, bleary-eyed with mussed hair, just as Dean was taking his first bites of his breakfast. The man stopped at the doorway, dumbstruck at the full cooked meal laid out for him. Dean only looked expectantly at him.

“You went out,” he muttered. It wasn’t a question. His voice was rough from sleep, and Dean hated how much he liked the sound.

It took him a moment to realize the edge in Castiel’s voice. “I went to get food,” he answered drily, gesturing to the eggs on Castiel’s plate.

Castiel hesitantly moved toward the table, all the while keeping his vision looked on Dean. “You shouldn’t have left,” he chided.

“I came back, didn’t I?” Dean shot back.

Castiel, for once, didn’t respond, and instead took a hesitant bite of the eggs. At first taste Cas’s features relaxed and a soft moan escaped from his lips, affecting Dean more than he would like to admit. The man really shouldn’t be messing with him this early in the morning.

“Where did you learn to cook like this,” he asked with a full mouth.

Dean shrugged. “You pick things up when you’re in charge of meals.” It really had been a necessity to be able to make more than cereal and ramen, although those had been staples his entire life. But whenever they had a little bit more for fancier things, he had experimented in hopes of making meals a bit better.

Cas nodded at him before digging in again. In a way it was nice to see someone so excited about his cooking. Since Sam went off to college he only really made stuff for himself and his dad, assuming the old man was around. But neither of them ever had the thought to compliment him on the meal. Castiel’s comments were refreshing and warmed him inside.

The rest of breakfast passed in relative silence, with only the sound of clinking silverware and pouring juice to fill the space. And while there was an obvious kind of tension hanging in the air, it wasn’t one of anger or frustration. Dean wanted to apologize for the night before, or at least explain himself, but he didn’t want to start another fight. Cas seemed to have the same idea of not discussing last night. Maybe it was better if they both forgot it.

The shrill ringing of Castiel’s phone snapped him out of his thoughts. Cas hurried to the counter to grab the annoying thing. Before Dean could decide not to, he said, “Put it on speaker.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him, but there wasn’t really any fire behind it. “Why,” he asked plainly. The phone was still screaming in his hand.

“Because I’m helping you with the case and shouldn’t be left in the dark.”

Castiel only paused for a moment before pressing the accept call button and setting the call to speaker, holding the phone out between them. “Hello, Jody. Did you find anything?”

 _“Good morning to you, too,”_ she replied sarcastic. Dean could practically hear her eyes roll.

“Do you have the files?”

 _“Yeah, just emailing it now. You know,”_ she added, _“you could have just told me she was FBI. Would have saved me and Donna a lot of trouble.”_

That couldn’t be right. His mom couldn’t have been a cop. She worked at a gift store in Lawrence. “She’s FBI?” Dean called out without thinking. Castiel shot him a look.

_“Novak, who’s that?”_

Dean grabbed the phone from Cas before pushing him towards the man’s laptop to get the files. “Uh, hi,” he addressed the woman on the other end. “I’m Dean. I’m helping Castiel with the case.”

He could hear her give an “mm-hmm” at the mention of Cas. What was that about? _“Well hello, Dean,”_ she said drily. _“And, yes, Mary was FBI. Started out as a cop in Kansas City and quickly rose to detective. After the Tropicana Hotel Case the Bureau recruited her. Worked here about 6 years in the eighties. And guess what her last case was?”_

Dean gave out a haphazard guess. “Demons?”

 _“That’s right,”_ she smirked. _“About a year undercover and then quits. Five years later she’s dead.”_

That’s what they were looking for: a solid connected between his family and the Demons. Cas had to admit his dad was right.

“Something happened during the case that killed her.” Dean jumped at the sound of Castiel’s voice. The man was standing right behind him, intently studying the file. He could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Yeah, but how do we find out what?” Dean hoped the crack in his voice wasn’t too noticeable.

Cas scrolled down the page, searching for something. “Jody, can you look up Victor Henriksen? FBI as well. I need to know if he’s still alive and if so, where.”

“Who’s he?” Dean asked.

“Your mother’s supervisor. He’d be able to fill in some gaps.”

 _“Got it,”_ Jody reported. _“He’s still alive and kicking in Bloomington, Illinois. I don’t think that’s too far away from you.”_

“Thank you so much, Jody. Could you send the case reports as well?”

_“Already got Donna on it. Although, it not sure what we’ll actually find.”_

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Jody huffed. _“The files are twenty five years old, kid, and from the beginning of the computer age. Who knows where they are or what they look like.”_

“But-”

“Thank you for everything Jody,” Castiel interrupted. “I hope your search goes well.”

 _“You too,_ Castiel _, you too,”_ she replied, eliciting a frown from Cas. She chuckled as he glared at the phone. _“Bye, Novak.”_

“Goodbye.” He hung up and turned to Dean. He looked him over. “Do you have a nicer shirt?”

He glanced down at his dark jeans and faded AC/DC tee. “I think I’ve got a button down.”

“Go put it on, and clean up a little.” The man walked past him to the hallway

“Says the guy with the bed head and three day old scruff.” Cas shot him another look from over his shoulder. “Why am I changing anyway?”

Castiel was already headed upstairs. “To interview Mr. Henriksen. You have fifteen minutes before we leave.”

Dean jogged to follow him. “You actually want me to come?”

“It would be difficult to protect you if you weren’t with me,” he explained before an amused grin appeared on his face. “Besides, I thought you wanted to be part of the investigation.”

With that he shut the door of his room, leaving Dean at the base of the stairs in total shock. The man was actually trying to be nice to him, even go as far as to reach out to him. It was amazing. Dean rushed up the stairs to change. Fifteen minutes later Dean had cleaned up a bit, Castiel was back in his uniform of black suit and trench coat, and the two were headed off in his Lincoln Continental.

Most of the drive getting out of the city was slow and silent, interjected with Dean’s muttering at morning commuters. Of course they were up early enough to get stuck in it.

It occurred to Dean that his dad had spent another night trapped in a cell, probably without any idea where Dean was. Hell, Sammy didn’t have a clue what was happening. He was off pretending to be a cop while his family was in the dark. He didn’t know how to feel about that.

And he still hadn’t officially patched things up with Cas. They were definitely on speaking terms, but the argument last night was never resolved. The car’s silence had started to become uncomfortable.

Just when Dean was about to speak, Cas cut him off with, “I apologize for my behavior last night.”

Dean’s mouth closed with an audible click. That wasn’t expected.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard and so forcefully,” he continued. “It was unprofessional.”

It was nice to hear, but Cas was not alone at fault. “Dude, you were doing your job. I was just being a little bitch about everything.” He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Look, I know you think my dad sucks and you have some personal vendetta against him or something, but he really isn’t that bad. The old man dedicated his life to helping people, so stuff like my mom’s death didn’t happen again.”

He thought back to all the new schools and long trips in the car and countless motel rooms he’d stayed at. He always had Sam and his Dad had him so it all worked. “I’m the only thing my dad has left. When Sam left for college it destroyed him. I don’t think they’ve talked since.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “My dad needs me. I don’t care if he gets drunk every once in a while and something happens. It’s my job.”

Dean didn’t miss the way Castiel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He took a steady breath. “It’s not your job to be a punching bag for your father. I understand he was doing the best with the circumstances he put upon himself-” Dean growled at statement, causing Cas to pause. “And the ones he was forced into,” he amended, “but what he did is still abusive. You shouldn’t just accept it. You deserve more.”

Dean huffed at the statement. It was nice Cas thought that, but it wasn’t true. He messed up a lot, stole stuff, dropped out of school. He wasn’t a good person; he wasn’t an exceptional person. He got exactly what he deserved.

But saying any of that would cause a shit storm, so he sucked it up. “Thanks, Cas,” he muttered.

“I will say, it is nice that you do have a relationship with your parent.”

“Yeah,” he said, turning his head towards Cas, “what’s up with you and them? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking,” he added quickly. He didn’t want Cas to blow up at him like last night.

Castiel’s jaw tightened and his body became stiff. Dean almost expected him to ignore the question, but he surprisingly began speaking. “My parents and I disagree on many points: my opinion on religion, my political stance, my sexuality.” He cast a sideways glance to Dean to gauge his reaction, but he small nod to show his understanding. After all, he was bi and that was something he never brought up with his dad.

“When I started living on my own we began communicating less and less, and every time we did ended in fights. Eventually we cut each other out. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to them.”

Dean wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He couldn’t imagine never speaking to Dad or Sam again. It was hard to imagine someone like Cas living with that problem. “Are you okay with that, Cas?”

Cas shrugged. “I’ve been fine without them, so I assume so. My sister still keeps in touch, and my brother is civil.” He sighed. “I’m okay.”

Another thought popped into Dean’s mind, one he had been thinking about since earlier that morning. “Hey, why’d you get so pissed off when Jody called you Castiel?”

“I wasn’t pissed,” he said defensively.

“Yeah, you were.”

Castiel gave Dean a quick, annoyed glance before returning his concentration to the road. “I just prefer people to call me by my last name. Meg’s the only one who I let get away with it.”

Dean was taken back by the statement. “And Meg’s your...” he trailed off. He really hoped he wouldn’t say girlfriend. He knew Cas just said he was queer, but he wasn’t going to assume that meant he was gay. Although Dean didn’t know why he cared so much. It wasn’t like he was jealous or anything.

“She’s my best friend, a detective like me. You met her, I think. She was watching over you before our meeting.”

Dean barely recalled a short, dark haired woman flirting back at him. He didn’t know why, but he kinda felt bad now.

Something struck Dean. “I call you Castiel.”

A small smile formed on Castiel’s lips. “Yes... and Cas.”

Dean didn’t know exactly what that fact meant, but it brought a smile to his face.


	5. Chapter 5

When Jody had said Bloomington was not too far away from Chicago, Castiel had assumed that meant it was one of the outlying suburbs and wouldn’t be much over an hour. But when they reached the outskirts of Bloomington nearly two and a half hours after they had left that morning, he was willing to call her a liar.

Castiel quickly glanced over at Dean. The man seemed unfazed at the trip. Castiel couldn’t understand it. He hated long car rides. It always felt as if the walls were locking him inside, and he couldn’t stand the cramped space with stale air. As a child Hannah had always teased him about it, saying he might have a form of claustrophobia. He had pointedly ignored her.

Castiel should have realized it was going to be a long trip went Dean had told him they had to pass through Pontiac. He knew the distance between Chicago and his hometown, and he should have accounted for that plus the extra distance.

He looked over at Dean again. He was lounging in his seat, reading off the directions from the app on his phone. Secretly Castiel was relieved Dean was here to navigate; he could never figure out the machines. But his relaxed state was frustrating.

“How are you so comfortable being in here?” he finally asked as they turned down yet another residential street filled with carbon copy country style homes.

Dean chuckled at Castiel’s exasperated state. “Dude, half of my life is road trips. I can pull over thirteen hours on the road without making a fuss.”

Castiel tried not to think of how horrible that reality would be. As a child he could barely stand the weekend trips to their grandparents house outside St. Louis. But living out of a car? That was a nightmare.

They pulled onto Tanner Street, slowly rolling down the road until they pulled up into front of Hendriksen’s home. They walked to the front door, sunken between the front room and garage bay, and rang the doorbell. For a minute nothing happened, and Castiel worried that the man wasn’t here and the pain he endured in the car was for nothing. He had turned to leave with the door creaked open.

The man in front of them, although elderly, had a fierceness in his eye as he gave the two of them a once over. He matched Castiel’s height and wasn’t afraid to look him in the eye. Even with Dean’s extra height the man’s presence still towered over them. “Who are you,” he demanded.

Castiel reached out to his pocket to produce his badge. “Detective Novak. This is Dean Winchester.” Castiel noted the raise of eyebrows at Dean’s name. “We need to ask you a few questions about Mary Winchester.”

Henriksen studied Dean, his face unreadable. “You’re her son, aren’t you?”

“Yes Sir,” he answered, not backing down.

“Well, it’s nice to see you’re still around,” he grumbled. He turned his attention back onto Castiel. “You’re lucky my wife isn’t home. Get in here. Let’s hear what you’ve got to say.”

Henriksen led them to the front room, crowded with furniture and memories. He gestured to a lumpy couch, which Castiel slightly sank into when he lowered himself onto it. Dean did his best to conceal a smirk as he sat down beside him.

“Now,” Henriksen breathed as he seated himself in an overstuffed chair opposite them, “why are you digging up Mary’s case? That thing’s twenty years old.”

Dean and Castiel glanced at each other before answering. “There’s been a new lead,” Castiel explained.

Henriksen actually snorted at them. “New lead? Son, I worked that case when it was fresh. There was no doubt Winchester was her killer. We just couldn’t find him.”

“My dad didn’t kill her,” Dean grunted. “He was framed.”

“The man was an ex soldier with marital problems. He had opportunity and motive.”

“Mr. Henriksen,” Castiel interjected, “we’ve captured John Winchester. There is a chance it was him, but there is strong evidence towards another party.”

He rolled his eyes. “Because this kid says he’s innocent.”

“Because he was there that night and knows his father better than any of us.”

Henriksen glowered them. “You forget that I knew Mary extremely well and this was a very personal case for me.”

“Yeah, same here,” Dean shot back.

Castiel scooted forward on the couch and got his note pad ready. “Sir, Could you describe what you know about Mary’s last case?”

Henriksen looked over Castiel and his notepad before answering. “We had gotten a tip that the Demons had ring going on in Baltimore. Rumors that certain dealers were actually part of the group. At that point we needed anything to bust them.” He gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Hell, you still do.” Dean let out a huff.

“We figured the best course of action was to plant an agent to gain information. It’s actually because of Mary we have the anything on them. You’re mother was a hero,” Henriksen smiled. Dean didn’t quite return it, but his face did soften. “Anyway, the plan was to have an agent go undercover for at least six months. No contact with the bureau or anyone. They were completely on their own until they found enough significant information and could escape.”

“And so you assigned Mary on this case,” Castiel filled in.

Henriksen shook his head. “Nope.” He chuckled at their surprised faces. “I didn’t want her anywhere near it.” He held his hands up in defense. “Don’t get me wrong, I knew Mary was a great agent - I recruited her myself. But I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if she had gotten hurt or killed because of this case.” Dean shot a sideways glance at Castiel. “Mary demanded to be put on it,” Henriksen continued. “She reasoned she was young and pretty enough to make them underestimate her. There was no way anyone would think a young girl like her was FBI.”

“Did anyone suspect?” Castiel asked.

“Not that I know of,” he replied. “We had built up a pretty good back story, if I remember correctly. I think her name was Jessica Moore: chem major dropout who knew a few things about drug creation.” A large smile spread across his warm. “I remember, we had to teach her how to make crack - to make her story believable. The entire time I was bitching about having drugs in the Bureau - and I was right to. If someone had seen...” he drifted off in a fit of laughter.

“I stopped hearing from her once she got to Baltimore. I still don’t know exactly what happened during that time, but I knew she was accepted into the organization. Got pretty close to Azazel as well.” He shifted in his seat as Castiel jotted down the notes. “Good thing too. Because of her we learned most of the heads at the time, multiple branches of the organization, and over fifteen locations of operation. Granted, they reorganize themselves often enough that without getting Azazel the group would never come down - even then I’m sure parts of it would survive. Like the hydra.”

“Where was her husband during this time?” Castiel questioned. He could feel Dean’s eye glare at him, but he refused to return his gaze. John Winchester was still a suspect. It was worth knowing.

“A tour overseas, I think. Had to keep busy during that year.”

“What happened when she got back,” Dean asked.

Henriksen leaned forward in his chair. “It was the strangest thing. One day, out of the blue, she walks into the Bureau and drops a huge file on my desk. And then proceeds to ask for a resignation.”

Castiel stopped writing. “Really?”

He nodded. “Couldn’t believe it either. Out of everyone I knew she had the most potential. If she had stuck with us I’m sure she would be director by now.” He gave a noncommittal gesture that dissolved into a shrug. “I don’t know what happened in Baltimore, but something happened that shook her to the core. She wouldn’t have quit otherwise.” Henriksen paused for a moment. Last time I talked to her she said she and John were headed back to Lawrence,” he said softly. “Next thing I knew she was dead.”

Henriksen studied the two of them. “Do you really suspect the Demons of killing her?”

Castiel finished up his last note before flipping his notepad shut. “There’s a strong possibility.”

He raised an eyebrow at the comment, but didn’t say anything against it. Henriksen slowly rose from his seat. “Well, I wish you best of luck with whatever it is you think you’re doing, because if you are getting tangled up in the Demons, you’re gonna need it.”

With that Castiel thanked him, and he and Dean returned to the car to head back to Chicago.

“So my mom gets close to Azazel while she’s undercover,” he hypothesizes, “learning personal secrets while he doesn’t suspect a thing. She leaves and thinks everything is fine.”

Castiel picks up. “But then, years later, he finds out that she wasn’t Jessica Moore and actually doubled crossed him. Azazel gets revenge with the fire.”

“My dad goes after them and gets blamed for the murder. Year’s later he gets close to catching one of the main men in his ring-”

“But then lets the police catch him because it gets him off his back and would solidify a murderer for Mary.”

Dean looks expectantly at Castiel. “So you believe me?”

Castiel gives a long sigh. “Your story is looking more and more likely, but at the current moment it’s entirely circumstantial.” He looked over to see Dean’s dejected look. He never wanted to see that again. Castiel took a chance and reached over to rest his hand over Dean’s. The other man tensed underneath him, but didn’t move. “I want to believe it was Azazel, and trust me, I will do everything in my power to find the evidence need to convict him.”

He kept his eyes on the road, too afraid to see Dean’s reaction to his statement. He felt Dean’s hand move under his, and for a moment Castiel was worried he was going to pull away, but instead strong fingers wrapped around his own and squeezed. A shy yet warm smile spread across his lips as he squeezed back, and the two drove back in silence, their hands clasped together the entire way.

It was early afternoon by the time the got back, and both men were starving. Dean elected to make lunch, which Castiel wouldn’t dare argue with. Based on what he ate this morning, he was never going to pass up Dean’s cooking. Castiel instead chose to work on his laptop. Jody had sent him the case files, and he busied himself by poring over the documents. Henriksen hadn’t been lying when he said the file was huge. It must have taken Mary over a week to fill everything out, and she had to do it secretly. The more he learned about Mary Winchester the more he respected her. He would have loved to have someone like her on the Chicago force.

He was just getting to the section describing the Baltimore base - a piece of abandoned property like most other locations - when Dean shoved a bowl of chili in his line of sight with a soft, “Here.” Castiel accepted it gratefully and both were content to eat their lunches side by side on the couch.

The food was once again delicious. It occurred to Castiel that at one point Dean was going to leave because there was no way he would stick around with him, and with that he would lose the wonderful cooking he was already growing accustomed to and the amusing source of distraction and just the feeling of someone else being in the space. While Dean was here he wasn’t lonely. Yes the man could be annoying at times - like now he kept looking over Dean’s shoulder to read the case file, always getting close enough so that his warm breath ghosted over Castiel’s neck - but in a way it was comforting. Just being around him made Castiel smile. He wasn’t sure that was entirely a good thing.

Eventually Dean got tired of reading legal documents and suggested they watch TV. He was horrified to discover Castiel had never seen Firefly.

“But Cas, it’s the greatest show ever,” he insisted. “How the hell did you avoid seeing it?”

He pointed kept his gaze focused on the laptop screen in front of him. “I told you I don’t have cable and I almost never have time to sit down and watch something.”

Dean smirked at him. “Well you do now.”

Despite Castiel’s protests, Dean ran upstairs to grab his commuter and connect it to the TV so they could binge watch the series on Netflix. Castiel allowed him to do so, but assured Dean he was going to keep working while the show was playing. Dean shot him a knowing look, but didn’t argue.

It was about halfway through the pilot episode Castiel could feel himself being pulled away from the files in front of him, and as it went on Castiel found himself paying more attention to the TV screen than his computer. By the end of the second episode he had completely stopped reading Mary’s files, and midway through the third he closed his laptop. When he saw Dean smirk at him through the corner of his eye, he responded with, “Don’t you dare say a word.” Dean had given him a small shove and continued watching.

At some point Dean reheated what was left of the chili and cut some bread for dinner. Castiel’s eyes never left the screen, and he was only aware of the food when Dean shoved it in front of his face.

Somehow the two men kept creeping closer together, shoulder to shoulder by the time the crew discover's Mrs. Reynolds. Castiel could feel Dean sinking further into him, but against his better judgment let it happen. He liked the feeling of someone else near him, sharing the same space, breathing the same air. Perhaps he had just been alone for too long.

Castiel tried to adjust himself into a more comfortable position, only to find Dean passed out laying across his side. He didn’t want to wake him up - that would be rude after all - and so gingerly moved so that he was laying across the couch on his back with Dean laying on top of him.

For a moment Castiel closed his eyes and pretended this was permanent: Dean and him eating good food and watching pop culture Castiel didn’t know and falling asleep on the couch. But even then, something in his gut told him he wanted more. Stealing kisses in the warm glow of the living room, gentle touches in the darkness of the night. But it was hopeless. Any attraction he had for Dean was highly inappropriate. His job was to protect him, not lust after him.

The show played on in the darkness of the room. Castiel leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Dean’s hairline. As if in response, Dean’s arms reached out to clutch to his shirt. Castiel smiled and he wrapped his arms around Dean, bring the man closer to him. He turned his attention back to the show, but he couldn’t quite block out Dean’s warm weight on his chest or the smell of skin. Castiel drifted off to the sound of his gentle breaths puffing against his chest.


	6. Chapter 6

The air in the car was warm. Dean wasn’t sure how cold it is outside, but a steady stream of snow was falling around them. The world was quiet, as if for once it was in peace. He gaze fell on to Castiel in seat beside him. He was smiling, no, beaming, all teeth and gums and completely beautiful.

Something began ringing in the distance. It sounded a bit like a siren, slowly growing louder and louder, but he couldn’t see any police cars or ambulances on the road. Cas squinted at the road in front of them before he unbuckled and opened the car door. Dean lunged after him but he was already falling out and Dean was going with him-

Dean’s eyes snapped open as he tried to regain his breath. His heart was beating a mile a minute. He was sure Cas could hear it.

Something was moving underneath him, pushing him into a plush wall or sorts. The couch. He and Cas had been watching Firefly and he probably fell asleep on the thing. The thing moving him groaned and jabbed him in the stomach, and it was only then Dean realized he had fallen asleep on _Cas_.

A part of him was mortified that he’d been cuddling with the officer that was supervising him, but the section that immensely enjoyed having a warm body next to him outweighed it. He blindly reached out for Cas, but the man swatted his hand away as he searched for his phone. Oh yeah, the ringing was still pounding in his ears.

Dean flopped back on the couch, instantly missing the body underneath him. Cas was somewhere in the darkness of the room, his movements only illuminated by the Netflix screen left on. Finally the ringing stopped. He must have found his phone.

“Detective Novak,” Cas yawned. Dean was too far away to catch most of what the other voice said, and even if he could, he was too close to the brink of sleep to retain any of it. “Whatever it is, can’t someone else handle it?”

Cas paused for a long time, then only said, “What?” His voice was alert and clipped, and Dean could hear the rage in anger behind it. That woke him up.

“Who was on duty?” Silence. “Check the security cameras.” Silence. Dean sat up to see Castiel pacing across the threshold. His breathing had become shallower and more rapid. “Anna, put the precinct on lockdown. Notify the captain.”

Lockdown? What the hell was going on?

Castiel fumed. “Tell Hael it’s going to be fine and that she needs to calm down. We’re trained for this. Call Meg. She’ll be able to handle this... Until she comes you’re in charge, understand?... Good.” With that he slammed his thumb on the end call button and shoved the phone in his pocket.

Cas turned to Dean. The harsh blue light of the TV screen highlighted his weary features. He looked caught between wanting to punch a wall and envelop Dean in a hug. “Are most of your things still packed?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

“Go get it. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

Castiel made the move to head upstairs, but Dean shot off the couch and rushed after him. There was no way he was just going to accept what was going on without Cas explaining first. “Cas!” He grasped Castiel’s arm, spinning him around at the base of the stairs to face him. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Cas shrugged his arm away. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Well, we’re gonna. I’m not leaving until I know what’s happening.”

“Dean!” Cas barked, but he held his ground. Whether Cas actually liked it or not, he was part of the case and helping him. He couldn’t just relocate them in the middle of the night without an explanation. That had happened too many times in his childhood to not know it meant danger. And if Castiel was alerted it had to be big.

“What happened at the precinct?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed at him, but otherwise didn’t move. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

Dean scoffed, “That’s bullshit, Cas, and you know it.”

“Dean,” he pleaded. Cas tried to move away, but he grabbed at his arm again. This time he didn’t push Dean away.

Something was wrong there, and it was big enough to affect Cas and himself. Or maybe it just about Dean.

“What’s wrong with my Dad?” he asked, trepidation wavering in his voice. Cas wouldn’t meet his eye. Dean tightened his grip on Cas while the other man tensed at the contact. Castiel was shrinking into himself, and Dean didn’t know if he’d ever been so frightened. “What happened to him?” Dean shouted. He pushed against, making the other man stumble against the stairs.

Castiel finally met his gaze, and underneath the hardened mask he tried to wear Dean could so easily see an apology. “Dean, I...” His voice was low and hesitant, as if he couldn’t find the right words. “Your father was found dead in his cell.”

The entire world stopped. Cas’s voice was muffled. His muscles refused to cooperate with the part of his brain still functioning. His heart was beating out of his chest, pounding and ringing in his ears so that everything was blocked out but the noise.

His dad was dead. The last person he had was gone.

He didn’t even know to process that information.

Pain surrounded him, engulfed him, until all he could feel was phantom daggers inside. It was like a part of him had been ripped out. He tried to take a breath, but nothing would flow in. The air had been knocked out of him. He was choking. He was dying.

Strong hands gripped his sides, bringing him back to the present. They gently lay him down on the steps. His vision came back into focus, and Cas’s patient blue eyes were all he could see. Castiel’s hands ran up and down his arms in an attempt to ground him.

“What happened?” he asked between gasps for air.

“He was shot sometime between the hourly cell checks. No one was seen coming in or out, and the surveillance system had been tampered with.”

Dean let his head fall into his hands. “It was Azazel,” he hissed. “Azazel killed him.”

Cas nodded. “I agree. He probably called for the attack.”

“It wasn’t an _attack_ ,” he spat. “My dad was assassinated!”

Dean was grateful for Cas not correcting him or getting upset. The man just continued to rub circles into his skin, trying to calm him down. “Nevertheless, until we know his plans, we must assume you are the next target. There’s a good chance they know you’re staying with me. We have to go.”

Cas gave his upper arms a squeeze before rising to go upstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

Castiel had just reached the landing when Dean called out, “Wait!” Cas turned to face him. “My brother,” he stammered. “He’s in danger, too.”

“Where is he?”

“Stanford.”

Cas nodded. “I have a friend on the SFPD. He’ll be able to assemble a team to protect Sam.”

He ran up the stairs and the sound of his room door being pushed open filled up the house.

A dull numbness ached through Dean’s body. Although Cas had tried to be comforting, he was only more distressed. His father was gone, and one of the most dangerous men in the country probably wanted his and Sam’s heads. He rummaged around for his phone, still in his back pocket, and typed a quick message to Sam.

_dad’s dead. azazel got him. we might be next. cops coming to protect you. stay safe._

The phone felt heavy as he pressed the send button. He hadn’t talked to Sammy in almost a year. Now they’re lives were in danger. He was horrible. Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket as he felt a familiar weight in his chest. He should have been back up for his dad the night he was arrested. He should have fought to stay with him in the cell so there would he could have back up. His dad might still be alive if he could just get something right for once.

Dean didn’t know how long he’d been there, but Cas placed his hand on his shoulder and once again brought him back to reality. He had two duffle bags in one hand - Dean’s and what he assumed was Cas’s - and his cell phone in the other.

“I got a hold of my friend in San Francisco,” he said gently. “He’s going to contact the Palo Alto police department and have them put a team on your brother.”

A soft, “Thanks,” escaped from his lips. Cas pushed him towards the door and helped him into his jacket. He was on autopilot, moving where he was told without thinking. He didn’t want to do anything thinking.

The two men made rushed through the freezing night air towards Castiel’s car, only illuminated by the soft orange glow of the street lamps. The wasn’t much better, but Castiel muttered that at least there wasn’t any wind in the car.

A heavy silence sat between the two of them as the car sped down the near empty streets. Dean had no clue where Cas was taking him, and at the moment he didn’t care. He turned off everything, content with staring at the world flying by around him and pretending it was his father in the driver’s seat. He had even realized was crying until Castiel started rubbing circles into his skin with his thumb and the sound of his sobs broke through the air.

Soon the residential areas melted away to rundown business with blown out neon signs and graffitied walls. Cas pulled into a small parking lot in front of a long two-story building. Even in the low light Dean could see the cracked tan brick and rusted stairs. But it had a vacancy sign and free Wi-Fi, so it was good enough.

Dean didn’t remember Cas checking them in. Maybe he had fallen asleep in the car. But he didt know Cas had to practically carry him into the room. The gaudy orange and yellow walls stung his already tired eyes and the patch of what was probably water damage on the ceiling wasn’t pleasant, but all Dean cared about was the clean beds.

“Is this alright?” Cas asked as he dropped the bags to the floor.

“Yeah,” Dean replied as he toed off his boots and flopped on the nearest bed. “I’ve seen a lot worse.”

Dean was beginning to drift back off when he felt a weight press down on the edge of the bed. “How are you doing?” Cas quietly asked.

He wasn’t to tell Cas he’d be fine, that he’s an adult man and could handle it. But a part of him couldn’t lie to Cas. He felt sicker at the thought. So Dean gave a simple, “I don’t know.”

Cas didn’t move for a long time, and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy about that. For whatever reason his presence was soothing, even if he wasn’t doing anything. Just being near Cas lightened him a little.

He felt the bed shift again. Cas was about to get up and leave. Before he could think not to, Dean rolled over and reached out to Cas, clutching his wrist. The two stared at each other for a moment, not entirely sure what to say or what he meant by the gesture. All Dean knew was that he didn’t want Cas to get off the bed.

“Please,” he whispered. “Stay.”

Castiel froze for a moment before he shrugged off his coat, shoes, and tie. A small smile grew on Dean’s lips as the other man got under the blue covers with him. Cas was careful to stay on his side, but Dean, without hesitation, pulled himself closer to the other’s torso, clutching at his button down and pillowing his head on the man’s chest. He didn’t care if it made him look weak. For one moment he was going to get the comfort he desperately needed. Cas had tensed under him, but the man finally melted into the touch and brought his arms to wrap around Dean, cocooning him in his warmth. He reached over to turn off the light, and their world was plunged into darkness.

More tears threatened to spill over Dean’s eyes and he could stop the quivering in his body, but Cas just held him tighter and whispered to him. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here for you. You’re okay. Let it out. Don’t worry. I’m here.” He finally passed out, lulled to sleep by his sweet words and steady heartbeat.

Golden beams of sunlight were streaming into the room when he woke. His head was buried in Castiel’s neck, and the other man as softly stroking his back. Dean looked up to meet his gaze, clear and unaffected by sleep. His movements stopped.

“Hello Dean.”

He wasn’t sure why, but the first thing that came out of Dean’s mouth was, “How long have you been awake?”

Cas glanced over at the bedside clock. “For a while, now. It’s past noon.”

Dean looked down. He’d basically dragged himself against Cas’s chest, and was still grasping at his shirt and shoulder. He softened his grip on the man, but didn’t pull away. There was no reason too - he’d already well passed the point of embarrassment.

Cas returned his gaze to Dean. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “Better, I guess.” He wasn’t crying into Cas’s shirt, so Dean considered that a plus. “Sorry about all this.” He gestured between their still touching bodies.

Cas rubbed another circle on his back, and Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t melt into the touch. “You have nothing to apologize. If anything, I should be asking for your forgiveness.” Dean raised an eyebrow at the statement. “He was my case and my responsibility,” Cas explained. “I should have put better security on him.”

A part of Dean fully agreed with his statement, but he couldn’t find any anger within himself. Maybe he was still too numb to feel anything.

“I do need to get up to get us food,” he continued. Dean sheepishly let go of Cas as the man extracted himself from their entangled limbs. The bed felt emptier without him in it. Cas was still fully dressed saved shoes and coat. Before he left he turned back to Dean, still sprawled on the bed. “I’ll be back soon. How about you take a shower?”

Dean nodded and the man left. After a few minutes of staring at the cracked ceiling, he dragged himself out of the warmth of the bed. The shower’s tiled walls were cool against his bare skin. Dean found he could only manage to lean against the walls and let the warm water fall against his skin. He listened to the echoing fall of water droplets, pushing everything out of his mind but the sound.

Cas returned just as he exited the bathroom, arms carrying bags of chips and instant mac and cheese containers. There was only a microwave and small mini fridge in the room, so they didn’t have a lot to work with. They settled on the unused bed, gorging in on the cheap food.

“So,” Dean asked between bites, “When’s the cavalry arriving?” Cas stared at him as if he had grown another head. Dean rolled his eyes. “When does back up come?”

“It doesn’t.”

Dean gaped at him. “You think you’re enough to handled this?”

Cas put his food to the side. “No one knows we’re here. For all the station knows, we’re still at my home watching Firefly.”

“So why not tell them?”

He sighed. “I was told no one came in or out of the building when your father was murdered. And the surveillance cameras were tampered with, which would take intimate knowledge of the system.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You think it was an inside job.”

“It would make sense,” Cas stated. “The Demons would benefit from having a mole on the inside to direct us away from any leads.”

“And if you told them you were moving me-”

“The Demons would know,” Cas finished.”

Dean tossed his empty container in the trash bin. “So who did it?”

Cas stared at the food in his hands. “That’s what I need to research, to see if anything on their records would associate them with the group.”

“Do you need me to do anything?” A part of him hoped Cas would say no. At the moment he wasn’t sure he could really handle it.

Castiel shook his head as he got up to retrieve his laptop. “There’s not much you can do. I’ve got it, you can watch TV.”

Dean visibly relaxed before flopping back on his bed and grabbing the remote. The afternoon passed quietly. Dean flipped through the limited channels on the TV as Cas typed away on his computer.

Eventually he remembered sending a text off to Sammy the night before. There were eleven messages, all from his brother.

_WHAT?_

_WHAT HAPPENED?_

_ARE YOU OKAY?_

_DEAN ARE YOU OKAY?_

_DEAN_

_THE COPS JUST SHOWED UP SAYING THEY’RE HERE TO PROTECT ME BECAUSE SOME COP TOLD THEM TO WHAT DID YOU DO?_

_youre really freaking me out_

_ANSWER ME DAMMIT_

_the cops said the guy ordering them around is with you please tell me this is true_

_i hate you_

_dean talk to me are you okay?_

He sent off a quick reply confirming he was still alive before turning back to whatever program was on the TV. It was some comedy that had used up all its jokes. Dean didn’t mind it, though. It was a distraction from what was really going on. He needed it.

Soon the sky became dark and the halogen bulbs from the ceiling lap cast the room in an overbearing warm glow. Dean heated up some more food and the two had dinner in silence, Cas still glued to his computer. It was cute the way his brow would furrow and his eyes squint as he read the illuminated screen. It shouldn’t have been so endearing, but Dean couldn’t look away.

Suddenly, Cas’s face fell in shock. He looked like he had been violated. Dean was at his side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

Cas didn’t even look up at him. He still gaped at the screen in shock. “I believe I know who our mole is.” His voice was quiet and frail.

Dean looked down at one of the windows on the screen. It was a police record police record of Cas’s friend Meg, complete with information on joining and serving on the force and picture of her smirking at the camera. On the other side of the screen was another window opened. It was a news article with the headline “HIGHWAY CRASH; FOUR FOUND DEAD” blazed across the top. Underneath was the article accompanied by pictures of the four dead, all around college age.

Cas pointed to one of the girl’s pictures: a thin-faced blonde with a shaggy pixie cut and sweet smile. “Meg Nicole Masters was killed when a fellow intoxicated student drove her and two of her friends down a highway road in California and lost control of the vehicle. An oncoming car hit them, and the two cars served down a ridge. There were no survivors.” His last words waved, and he took a moment to collect himself before continuing. “Four years later she’s signing up for the Chicago Police Force.”

It was undeniable evidence. Meg, or whatever her name was, had to be the traitor. Dean glared at the picture on her report. He felt sick just looking at it. He wanted to kill her, to wrap his hands around throat. The bitch killed his dad and had to pay.

Beside him Cas began to shake. The guy’s best friend had betrayed him. Dean had already figured Cas didn’t let too many people in, and finding out about this must be shattering as well. That was one more reason to kill her.

“You have to get her,” he fumed.

Cas remained frozen in his chair. “I don’t think I can.”

“She killed my dad.”

“There’s a possibility Meg didn’t.”

“That’s not even Meg!”

Dean grabbed Cas’s face in his hand, forcing the man to look at him. “Whoever that is stole someone’s identity and infiltrated the police force. What other reason could someone have to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Cas snapped and pushed Dean’s hand away from his face. He sunk back into his chair. Dean didn’t know how long Cas stared at the screen, but he eventually pulled out his cell phone and dialed someone. He wandered across the room while he waited for the other line to pick up.”

“Hello, Meg,” he said, completely emotionless. “I think I have a new lead on the Winchester murder... It would be better if I saw you in person. Meet me at the Roadhouse in an hour, okay?... Goodbye.”

He ended the call and turned to Dean. “Give me your phone.”

Dean, although puzzled, didn’t hesitate to pull it out and hand it over to Cas. He typed something in and handed back to Dean. He could see the exhausted look in Cas’s eyes, the lines on his face more prominent than ever. Dean gave him a questioning look.

“I put in my number in case anything happens while I’m gone.”

Dean stood up. “Wait, I’m not coming with you.”

“It’s too dangerous to have you outside the room where you could spotted,” he explained.

He huffed. “What happened to ‘I need you next to me to protect you?’ ”

Cas gave him a pointed look. “Circumstances have changed. You know this.”

Dean did, but it was still annoying to be told to stay inside while Cas got to do all the really cool things. Cas grabbed his coat, keys, and a .40 Smith and Wesson. Dean eyed the weapon suspiciously. “I’ll be back soon. Stay safe.”

He suddenly got the urge to run up and hug Cas goodbye, but he quickly pushed it down. That didn’t need to happen. Cas was gonna be fine and Dean shouldn’t be having abandonment issues. He instead chose to give a halfhearted wave as the man closed the door behind him, leaving Dean alone in the warm room. He sat down on the seat and sighed. The only thing he could think was please stay safe.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel wrapped his trench coat around his body. The freezing wind had picked up, and not even next to towering buildings could one escape its wrath. Around him people bundled up in their warmest coats hurried down the icy sidewalks, desperate to get out of the cold. They were the lucky ones.

For what felt like the millionth time that night Castiel checked the time on his phone. Meg was thirteen minutes late. It was bad enough he had to wait out in the cold for her with no hope of going inside, but it had to be Meg. His best friend.

“Hey Clarence.”

The voice from behind snapped him out of his thoughts. Meg was coming up to him, sauntering down the street with a cheeky grin on her face.

The first thing Castiel could think to say was, “You’re late.” Why was he falling apart? This shouldn’t be so hard for him.

Meg rolled her eyes at the statement. “Yeah, sorry I got held up at the precinct cause someone was shot last night and you put me in charge of the situation.”

Castiel mentally cringed at her words. The realization that he’d made a probable murderer the lead on their murder case washed over him. He was sure no one had messed up has horrifically as he had.

He smoothed his mask of stoicism and held out his hand for her. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I knew you were the only one who could handle it.”

“Damn right,” she smirked as she took his hand. Castiel pulled Meg flush against him, letting go of her wrist to wrap his arm around the small of her back, keeping her locked in place. Meg’s confused expression morphed into one of shock and betrayal when she felt the tip of a gun on her stomach. Castiel unlocked the safety.

Castiel leaned down so he could whisper in her ear. To anyone else they would look like an affectionate couple. “We’re going into the alley. Don’t scream, don’t run, don’t make me use this.” He pressed the gun further into her abdomen, concealed by his large coat. Castiel pulled away so he could look Meg in the eye. If looks could kill he’d be dead on the pavement. “Please,” he begged softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Meg didn’t say anything, but allowed him to reposition himself so his arm and the gun where safety hidden under her jacket, now pressed against the small of her back. She let her arm wrap around Cas as he led them into a narrow alley next to the bar. When Castiel determined they were far enough away from the street, now hidden in the dark behind a dumpster, he pushed Meg off of him and into the side of the bar. He kept the gun aimed at her.

“You know, Clarence,” she drawled, “when I pictured us in an alley together, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“I don’t think you’re in the position to be making jokes right now.”

“I might stop if you told me why you’re pointing that thing at me.” Even when pushed into a corner Meg refused to back down. She cocked her head. “If you guys are gonna arrest me for something why did you wait until after I left the precinct. Seems like a bit of a waste.”

Castiel refused to answer. He didn’t know how he could. But his silence must have spoke volumes. She threw her head back, laughing bitterly. “The precinct doesn’t know you’re doing this, do they?” He remained silent as she continued laughing. “Oh god, look at you: growing up and breaking rules. You’re not even gonna arrest me.”

“Not yet,” he grunted.

She smiled smugly. “So you wanna tell me why I’m here?”

He kept the gun pointed at her chest as he glared further at her. It wasn’t as if she didn’t already know. “I know you’re not Meg Masters. I know you stole that name when you joined the force. I know you’re working for the demons. And I know you killed John Winchester.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m impressed. You got half of it right.”

“Where were you at three am this morning?”

“At my home. Asleep.”

“Can you get anyone to verify that?”

“My building manager. But that’s not needed. You know I wasn’t in at the precinct, and only someone inside could have done it.”

Castiel’s words faltered. “You could have snuck in and out somehow.”

“You sure about that?” she scoffed.

“I don’t have time for games, Meg.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Rachael.”

He squinted at her. “What?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised. You already figured it out. Rachel: my old name.”

“Last name?”

She bit down on her lips as she looked away. Castiel cocked the gun, regaining her attention. She quickly spat out, “Azazel.”

Castiel faltered at the admission. His best friend was related to the head of the Demons. Maybe his daughter. He was going to be sick.

“But if you think I have any loyalty to that name you’re sadly mistaken.”

Out on the street cars sped past and people hurried along, completely oblivious to what was happening in the alley. What a wonderful concept ignorance was.

“I think you better start explaining,” he demanded.

The wind picked up again, blowing dirty snow and smoky fumes in their face. Meg continued to glower at him. “Fredric Azazel’s my father.” Her voice was low and acidic. “Born into the Demons and forced to live in that hell hole my entire life until I escaped.”

“And then joined the police force,” he added suspiciously.

“I wanted to help people,” Meg snapped, “and stop my father. You know as well I as I do only cops get any new information on the demons.” She sighed. “I started over, and for once I’ve actually been proud of myself. You have to believe me: I have nothing to do with them and I didn’t shoot Winchester.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know.” Meg shook her head. “I was trying to figure that out when you called me.”

Castiel checked to see they were still safe in the shadows before he refocused on Meg. “Do you at least know why?”

She snorted. “Well that’s pretty obvious. Mother Mary pissed off my father so he took revenge. I don’t know how far he’ll go, but considering the circumstances I’d hold onto Dean pretty tight.”

Castiel thought back to his decision to leave Dean at the motel. Until that moment it seemed as if it was in everyone’s best interest to keep him as far away from Meg as possible. Now he wasn’t so sure.

His stomached dropped at the realization of where he stood. Dean still wasn’t safe. He still had no idea who was working with the Demons. And now with the confirmation of Mary Winchester’s murders, there would be a redoubling of efforts against the Demons, all presumably led by Castiel. He could feel himself grow dizzy at the thought.

The only positive he could find was that he had willing source of information. That was assuming everything Meg had said was correct. He might as well begin using it.”

“What do you remember about Mary Winchester’s time with the Demons?”

She glared at him. “You realize I was like four, right?” Castiel remained silent. He didn’t need to speak for Meg to. She rolled her eyes, but continued. “I remember a blonde woman who my father really liked. He kept her in his personal circle, which, believe me, is rare. She was around a lot more than my father’s other advisors.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at the last comment.

Castiel squinted and his mouth hung agape in shock. “You believe she was having an affair with Azazel.”

“Knowing my father it’s not too hard to imagine,” she rolled her eyes. “Then one day she left and I never saw her again.”

“What happened after that?”

Meg shrugged and carefully brushed a stray hair from her face. “He looked for her for a while. Finally found out she was married with kids. By the end of the week she was dead.” She snickered. “There was a while when you couldn’t say ‘Winchester’ without the word ‘fuck’ coming before it.”

He asked, “What about John and the boys.”

“I heard him and Dean mentioned a few times,” she admitted, “but I was a kid - I don’t remember much. By the time I was old enough to be told things and realized how fucked up my father actually was they stopped talking about them.”

“Until recently.”

Meg looked affronted. “Hey, I jumped ship way before that.” She eyed the barrel of the gun. “You mind putting that thing away?”

Castiel studied her for a moment before slowly lowering his gun, keeping his eyes locked on her. Meg relaxed slightly, but still refrained from making any sudden movements.

“So what are you gonna do with me?” she sighed.

Castiel honestly had no clue. There was a good chance Meg could help Dean and him, which would be an invaluable resource. She also had intimate knowledge of the Demon’s structure and branches. The rest of the force could interrogate her for it, although Castiel was sure she would give up any information willingly without force. But there was still the issue of whether she was being truthful or not with her intentions of taking the identity and coming to the force. And he couldn’t forget she had broken the serious federal law. Most likely multiple times. She couldn’t just be pardoned for that as if it was forgotten.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

She took a hesitant step forward, her hands up in front of her in defense. Castiel raised his gun on instinct, but lowered it when he saw the calm and cautious look in her eyes. “I know you don’t trust me,” she said softly. It was the understatement of the year. “But I can help you, and I want to help you.” She was now within reaching distance of Castiel. “You have no idea what they’re like, and if you want to beat them you’re gonna have to have more than twenty-five year old files.”

Meg was right. Assuming she was being completely honest in her intentions, she was the only person she was the only person who could help.

He stepped forward, grabbing Meg’s arm to hold her in place. There was fire in both of their eyes. “If you come with me,” he warned, “you do everything I say and you don’t leave my sight. Otherwise you’ll be held in the precinct. Do you understand?”

“You bet.”

He let go of Meg and gestured for her to exit the alleyway. He followed close behind. The two quickly made their way to Castiel’s car, hurrying through the flow of people and freezing air. The ride back was silent. Neither knew what to say. Meg only raised an eyebrow when they headed past Lincoln Park and his home. “You found a motel,” she murmured. It wasn’t a question, but Castiel hummed a confirmation. At one point he pulled out his phone to alert Dean of his and Meg’s return, but stopped at the realization that he never got Dean’s number, only the other way around. He angrily shoved the thing back in his coat pocket. It wasn’t a huge problem, after all he could always get it when he got back, but Castiel was getting sloppy and forgetful.

It felt as if an eternity had passed by the time he pulled into the motel parking lot, now even emptier than before. He quickly ushered Meg out of the car and to their room.

Castiel froze outside the doorway. It was ajar. He looked at Meg, recognizing the severity of the situation, and pulled out his gun, aiming it at the door. He mouthed a countdown from three and the two barged into the room.

It was as if a hurricane had swept through the space. The TV had been tossed to the ground and the screen shattered. Next to it laid the base of the lamp. Chair legs were broken off and shoved to the ground. The beds looked trampled upon. And Dean was nowhere in sight.

“Dean!” he shouted, going to the bathroom that, despite its appearance of being rifled through, seemed to be in better shape than the rest of the room. “Dean!” he called again. His voice was getting more desperate. Castiel rushed past Meg and into the parking lot. “Dean!” He ran out to the street, screaming over the cars rushing by. “DEAN!” He felt Meg’s hand rest on his shoulder, trying to pull him back away from the road, but he shrugged her off. “DEAN!” He could hear Meg’s muffled voice shout beside him, but he couldn’t understand a word she said. “DEAN!” His voice cracked. He couldn’t breathe. Dean was gone, Dean was taken, and it was entirely his fault.


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing Dean heard was male voices. Many of them. But they sounded far away and distorted, as if he was hearing them underwater. There was a pounding pain in his head, making it hard to concentrate on anything. His arm tried to rub his forehead in an attempt to soothe the pain, but for some reason it wouldn’t move. His limbs felt like lead.

The voices were getting louder and clearer. He distinctly heard one say “He’s coming to.” Were they talking about him?

Strong hands gripped his shoulders and started thrashing him around. Something hard and fast smacked against his cheek, and his eyes flung open, although he found it hard to keep them so.

There was hardly any light in the concrete room, save for a few dim overhead lamps casting the space in a slickly white-green wash. Two men in front of him, head to toe in sturdy black clothing and assorted weapons, were the ones shaking him awake. He tugged at his arms again, and realized they were also tied behind him. He tried to kick his legs, but they seemed to be in the same predicament. Dean screamed, his voice hoarse and dry, but it was muffled by something in his mouth, a gag of some kind.

His mind tried to focus on how he got he got. He remembered being at the motel. Cas left to get Meg. And then what? Everything was fuzzy.

One of the men brought his hand down on his face again. The smack and his shout of pain reverberated around the bare room. His cheek stung.

“Let me see him.”

He didn’t know the voice, but for some reason it felt familiar. The two guards step aside to reveal a thin-faced man with a sickly smile spread across his face.

The memories flooded back to Dean. The man and guards were breaking down the door. He’d quickly hid his phone on him and grabbed the lamp for protect before the door flung open and they entered. He had hit one on the head and the other in the stomach. Dean glanced up to see the two goons still displayed their injuries - one even had dry blood still on his face. So he hadn’t been out two long. That was a positive.

But he had still been captured. One of the men had stabbed him with something - maybe a needle or syringe. The world had started growing fuzzy and he could barely move his arms. Something hit him in the back, knocking him to the floor. Legs had kicked him in the stomach and face before he completely blacked out.

“Welcome, Dean,” the man smirked. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.” He walked up and pressed down on a spot near Dean’s eye. He winced and let out a shout at the pressure on his sensitive skin. “Although, I’m sorry to say it had to be under these circumstances.”

He stepped back to admire Dean tied up and in pain. “I assume you already know who I am.”

Dean tried to answer, but he couldn’t form any words around the gag. The man smirked and slowly removed the fabric tied around his mouth, letting his finger stroke his jaw and lips. He slowly pulled the bunched up sock out of his mouth. Dean sputtered as he could finally move his jaw.

“Azazel, you son of a bitch.”

The man laughed, loud and long and sour. “I was hoping you had some brains in you.” He mockingly held out his hand to Dean, his eyes dancing over his immobile arms. “Alastair Heyerdahl, at your service.”

Dean glowered at him. He was face to face with the man who got his father arrested and murdered. His body lunged at him, but he was held tight against the chair. The man only laughed at his struggle. If Dean could have moved, Alastair would be dead.

“Aww,” he cooed. “You know how much fun I had with your daddy. He didn’t even see me coming.” He revealed in the memory. “I had such fun bringing him to unconsciousness.” His eyes fixed onto Dean. It reminded him of when a snake was ready to strike. Dean felt cold. “I’m going to have even more fun playing with you.”

He strolled over to a small metal table Dean hadn’t noticed. He picked up a small surgical knife, about six inches long with a dark handle. He held it up to the low light, admiring how it shined even in the darkness. A slow smile spread across his face as he looked back at Dean. “So much fun.”

There were other instruments on the table: hammer, wrench, pliers, and a collection of knives in a variety of shapes and sizes. He could even see an electric drill laying down and waiting to be use. Dean shook as Alastair came closer, knife held delicately in his hand. He ran the smooth blade over Dean’s cheek, laying it flat against the skin so it wouldn’t cut, but so Dean could still feel the icy coolness. His breaths became shallower and quicker.

He paused, leaving the blade on his skin. “Azazel doesn’t want me to do this,” Alastair breathed on him. Dean felt the sour breath float over his skin. “You see, he wants you to like him, to help him, but I knew you weren’t going to be so cooperative.” He ran the knife down his cheek again, pressing down to quickly nick the skin. Dean flinched at the cut, and Alastair’s eyes glowed at his reacted. “I told him you would never even consider it, so it was better just to have some fun with you while we could. He says if you don’t want to like him, then you get to like me.” He bent down even further, so that his face was only a few inches from Dean’s. “What do you have to say?”

Dean didn’t even have to think about it. He spat in his face. The man flinched back and frantically wiped the spit from his skin. Alastair glowered at Dean, and he returned the look. “Go to hell.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear,” he sneered.

Alastair shoved the sock back in his mouth and tied the fabric around his jaw before he could spit it out. He ripped his shirt open with the knife, exposing the smooth skin of his chest and abs. Alastair leaned over him, running a hand down his pecs all the while grinning at him like an insane person. Suddenly, he pressed the knife into the skin and made a large vertical down the length of his torso. Dean screamed around the sock in his mouth. The cut was thin but deep, and red blood quickly escaped the wound, flowing down his body.

He made two more cuts near his stomach. His torso was entirely covered in deep, dark red. Droplets stained his jeans and the ground. Alastair finally walked away and Dean though he was safe, but the man soon returned with a larger, thicker knife, like the kind someone would use to cut meat with. Dean’s eyes went wide. He dragged the tip along his shoulder, creating a ‘x.’ He admired the symbol before plunging the blade into Dean’s body. Tears starting flowing down his face as he wailed at the contact. The knife twisted inside him, probably cutting up flesh and bone and any muscle connecting his arm to his shoulder. Blood started running freely from the wound.

Dean could feel himself zoning out. He had lost too much blood. Alastair must have realized this, because the goons started pressing dirty rags on his skin, forcing the flow to stop and the blood to clot. Some of the fabric might have been his shirt. He really couldn’t tell.

The dim room was growing brighter and brighter, and then got extremely dark. Someone was messing with the lights, he knew it. Dean tried to move, but his entire body screamed at him. Otherwise he just felt numb.

He wished he knew where Cas was. He would be able to rescue him. Dean knew he would. Things were becoming more and more fuzzy. He thought he saw a man in a trench coat at the doorway. Cas. A weak smile tried to form on his lips.

A hand stroked his chin. “Don’t worry, Dean,” Alastair’s voice murmured. “We’re just getting started.


	9. Chapter 9

Meg had to drag him back inside the hotel room. He would have screamed Dean’s name all night if he could. It was Castiel’s fault he was gone. Had he stopped to think how much danger the man was in, that it was safer to keep him in sight at all times, that he should have been doing his job, Dean would still be with him.

Castiel had never described himself as a sentimental person, and he had conditioned himself to enjoy the solitude of his life. But Dean’s disappearance left a gaping hole in his chest begging to be filled. It was ridiculous. He’d only known the man for three days. But Dean had somehow wormed his way into Castiel’s life and dug a permanent spot for himself.

A cruel part of himself told him maybe it wasn’t so permanent after all, but he pushed back as far as he could. He was going to find Dean. That wasn’t a maybe.

Minutes, maybe hours, passed by. Something warm was thrust into his hands. He looked up to see Meg giving him a cup of coffee. It was the first time Castiel had ever seen a truly empathetic expression on her face. He grateful took a sip of the hot liquid.

“Thank you.”

“You need to rest,” she muttered.

He shook his head. “I _need_ to find him.”

Meg sighed and gave him a pointed look. “Okay. Where do you want to look?” Castiel couldn’t answer her. “Exactly. You don’t have a plan. You can’t do anything.”

“He could be dead,” Castiel snapped. “Or worse: he could be alive and I could still have a sliver of a chance to save him.”

“Well, moping around here isn’t gonna do anything!”

They stood off against each other. Castiel was the first to back down.

“You’ve only got two options,” Meg continued. “Either sit here and cry, or use that brain of yours to actually find him.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at her. “How.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “ Question one: is he alive?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong. He’s alive.”

He crossed his arms. “And you’re so sure because?”

“There’s no body,” she explained. “They’ve already proved with Mary and John that they’ll just get the job over with and leave the body for others to find. If they wanted Dean dead he’d still be here. Probably laid out on the bed or in the doorway – some placed you’d easily see. And yet he’s gone.”

She was right. And it infuriated Castiel because he would have seen the obvious pattern had not been so worked up. He couldn’t afford to let his personal interest in Dean cloud his judgment. He needed to think.

“So now the question’s where is he?”

Meg nodded. “How long did you leave him alone?”

Castiel grimaced. “A little over two hours.”

“So we round down. Add that with the thirty minutes we’ve been sitting here that gives us a two and a half hour range. That mean’s they’re probably still in state.”

“However,” he countered, “we’re only a few minutes away from the airport. If they got on that…” Castiel sunk into the bed, letting his gaze drift away. “They could be anywhere.”

“But that’s highly unlikely. They’re probably not too far outside the city.”

He focused on Meg. “I assume you have reasoning behind this as well?”

“Come on, Clarence, I know you know this one.” He only stared at her before she gave up prompting him and explained with a sigh. “The mole, whoever they are, has been planted here for a while. Long before the Winchesters showed up. And the reason they came in the first place was Heyerdahl.”

Castiel paused for a moment. “You think there’s a base in Chicago.”

She nodded. “Probably the headquarters. My father’s cabinet wouldn’t dare stray too far from him.”

“ _Probably?_ ”

“Look,” she grunted, “they move around a lot to keep people off their tracks. I doubt they’ve been here longer than a year.”

Which meant the demons could disappear at any time. “Do you know where they would be?”

“No.” She dropped herself on his bed. “They like large, foreclosed property. But that could be anywhere in this city.”

Castiel dropped his head into his hands. “We’re going to have to search this entire city.”

Meg drummed her fingers on her knee. “Or we could find a Demon and ask them.”

He huffed sourly. “We don’t have time to interrogate the entire police force.”

“Not that.” She rose off the bed and grabbed her coat. “Come on, we need to find an overpass.”

“What?” he asked, mouth agape.

“You heard me.”

Castiel reached out and grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to look at him. “Meg, if you’re going to work with me, than you need to fill me in.”

Meg rolled her eyes, but didn’t move away. “If the demon higher ups are here, then you can bet the dealers are. And there’s one that’s been with my father for as long as I can remember and likes to hang out under overpasses.”

“Do you think he’ll talk?”

“If we give him enough incentive he will.” Castiel raised his brow at the statement. “Crowley looks after himself first and foremost. He’s not loyal, he’s smarmy.” She shrugged off his arm and headed to the door. Castiel was close behind.

It was a long a silent drive to the 294/290 overpasses. It was the largest one and closest to the center of the city. And with the roaring noise and cover of trees and the night, it was a good bet Crowley would think of it as prime real estate.

It was easy to hop the chain link fence attempting to keep out trespassers. Castiel made a mental note to later tell the twelfth district the security in the area was lacking. The dead grass, frozen from the recent snow and chill, crunched under their steps as they slowly made their way through the dark. Between the leafless trees and shrubs Castiel could see the bright lights of speeding cars on the freeway.

Meg pushed him down behind a trunk. He was about to protest when she slapped a hand over his mouth and pointed ahead. A man in a dark business suit was lounging against one of the pillars of the overpass. He was conversing with two young girls, most likely were in college. He they handed him a wad of something - cash, not doubt - and in return he slipped something into their hands.

“Never thought I’d see a transaction go down,” Meg smirked. “He was always too good to be caught.”

“I guess we’re just lucky,” Castiel muttered as the girls hurried away into the night. Normally Castiel would go after them, but apparently it was their lucky night as well.

Crowley was still in his spot, and it seemed as if he had no intention of moving. “So what’s the plan?” Meg asked.

“We’re going to go up and ask for drugs under the guise of a couple wanting to get high. Then we corner him.”

Meg gave him a look, which even in the lack of light Castiel could tell was patronizing. “Crowley knows what I look like, and you suck at going undercover.”

“So what do you suggest?” he shot back.

“Are you two going to squat in the bushes all night or are you going to actually talk to me?”

Crowley’s raspy voice carried over the deafening roar of the freeway. Castiel and Meg froze in their place. “Oh, come on,” Crowley continued. “Did you really think I couldn’t see you come down here?” Meg glared at Castiel. “Get down here so we can talk like civilized individuals.”

There really was no option but to go down. Crowley already knew they were there. Any chance of surprise had disappeared and the ball was now in Crowley’s court, and they were going to have to accept that.

Castiel slowly stood up and made his way down to the man with Meg right on his heels. As the came into the light, Crowley’s jaw dropped and he let out a howling laugh. “It’s about time you come see me, Rachel. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten your friend.”

“I was never your friend,” Meg fumed. She glared at him in the darkness. “Do all the Demon’s know I’m here?”

Crowley gave her a slow smile as he reached into his pocket for a silver flask. “Did you honestly think you could avoid us for that long?”

“You never came after me.”

“But we did have some one looking after you.” He took a sip from the flask.

“The mole was for me,” Meg snarled.

“Originally,” Crowley smirked, “but I hear they’ve been invaluable by helping us with the Winchester.”

Castiel took a threatening step forward. “Where’s Dean?”

“The son?” Crowley asked, his face twisted in confusion. “You mean Azazel finally got him?”

“Finally?” Castiel looked to Meg expectantly, as if she would know what the man was talking about, but she seemed just as confused.

“Well, Azazel want’s what’s rightfully his. Why do you think he was hunting the Winchester’s for so long?”

Revenge on Mary. That had to be it. Dean was just a pawn in the game, nothing more. He couldn’t have been more.

“What does Dean have that he wants.”

Crowley stared at them, gawking. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Castiel had enough of the man’s games. He rushed up to Crowley, slamming him against the concrete support. The smug look was completely wiped off the man’s face as his head hit the pillar. “Tell us.”

He pouted at Castiel. “Not without some incentive. I am a businessman, after all.”

Castiel didn’t want to give in. He refused to make deals with proved criminals. But before he could reject Crowley’s proposal, Meg spoke up from behind him. “We were never here tonight. We didn’t see you make a deal and we never had the following conversation.”

Crowley leaned around Castiel to get a look at Meg. “But I am going to assume you’ll remember coming to this spot.”

“We’ll probably stumble upon it,” she grinned.

“And if I refuse?”

Meg shrugged. “Detective Novak does have a gun.” She came up to stand beside Castiel, leaning into Crowley’s face. “Trust me, you don’t want to be on the wrong end of the thing.” Despite the situation, Castiel couldn’t help the small smile that formed on his lips from the inside comment. It most likely seemed terrifying to Crowley.

He glowered at the two of them. “Fine,” he eventually spat. “But I can tell you now I don’t know where you’re little boy toy is.” He gestured at Castiel.”

“Why?” he growled.

“Because I, like the rest of the Demons, am on a need-to-know basis. I show up at a rendezvous point, get my supplies, and go. That’s it.”

Castiel glared at him. “Do you expect us to believe that?”

“Don’t act like you’re not the rat we all know you are,” Meg said with menace “You always know more than you should.”

“Not this time, Sweetheart,” he sneered. “They moved within the city and I hadn’t gotten the chance to figure out where.”

Castiel turned to Meg. “You said he would be useful.”

“I don’t know.” She eyed Crowley, studying him. “We could always take him back to the precinct.”

The man’s eyes went wide. “Hey, we had deal!”

“And you couldn’t hold up your end.”

“Wait,” Crowley shouted, stopping Meg and Castiel. “I did overhear something the other day.” Meg raised her eyebrow, signaling for him to continue. “Apparently, since Azazel found what he wanted, they’re going to be heading out soon.”

“How soon?” Castiel pushed. Crowley was shoved further into the concrete.

“I don’t know!” he yelled. “The guy said he had to be ready first.”

Meg narrowed her eyes. “Azazel? Dean?”

“Does it matter? I’d be more concerned about the ticking clock. Now will you kindly _get off of me_!” he bellowed. Castiel backed away and Crowley rubbed his neck and shoulders. “You weren’t supposed to leave marks, Casanova.” Castiel could only give an exasperated look at Meg. She waved him off before turning her attention to Crowley.

“I want you out of my sight.”

“Duly noted,” he replied through a smile of forced pleasantness. “Nice seeing you again, Rachel.”

Crowley hurried off into the darkness. He got a good ways off before Castiel called out to him. “Wait! Why does he want Dean?”

He couldn’t see the man’s reaction through the darkness and he could barely hear the reply, but it sounded suspiciously like, “Look back at your timeline.” Castiel squinted at the comment before taking off after him, but Crowley had disappeared into the night.

Meg came up behind him. “You okay,” she asked.

Castiel nodded, but honestly he was more discouraged than before. Crowley offered no help besides confirming the Demons were still in Chicago, and even then they didn’t know where in the city. They didn’t know why Azazel wanted Dean. And now they were on a race against a clock that could end at any moment. What could he do?


	10. Chapter 10

Dean hadn’t been able to sleep. He had passed out the first time Alastair cut him open, but after they had let his wounds clot and sit for a while they woke him back up. The cycle continued: slash him open, heal it up before too much blood is lost, keep him awake, even though every fiber of his being was screaming to sink into unconsciousness. That would have been the only way to let the pain easy for even a moment.

Dean didn’t know how long he’d been tied to the stupid chair. It could have been over a day for all he knew. There didn’t seem to be any time in the windowless room. He never had to worry about being alone. Alastair loved to just watch him from a distance. He at one point mentioned, while he was making a neat row of lines on arm, how his struggle for consciousness and dignity was mesmerizing.

He thought he saw Cas again. Just outside the doorway, just out of reach. Rationally he knew it was an illusion or some hallucination caused by blood loss and lack of water, or maybe even from the lack of food and his restless stomach. After all, Castiel didn’t have black, feathery wings sprouting from his back. But that didn’t mean he didn’t get his hopes up every time it happened.

Cas was the only thing getting him through the pain. Dean knew his friend was coming for him. He had laughed at the revelation: Cas was his friend. It was fitting. When Cas would come to get him, he would do everything so the man would let him stay. Dean needed to be near him. He craved his presence, his touch, his voice. He just hoped Cas felt the same.

Another slash broke him out of his thoughts. The sharp black made a quick cut along his cheek. It was short and for once not too deep, hardly more than a knick, but Dean could still feel his blood trickle down his face. Alastair leaned down and wiped a drop of blood off his jaw. He admired the red liquid on his finger before licking it off while staring down at Dean with a hungry look in his eye.

Dean closed his eyes and prepared for the next slice, but it never came. He heard a low voice whisper something to Alastair. He opened an eye to see a new Demon goon reporting something to a very annoyed looking Alastair. He shoved the man away and turned back to Dean. The unsettling hunger was still there, but it was diminished by a newfound anger.

He put on a forced smile for Dean. “Unfortunately it seems that I have been called away by Azazel. I trust you can handle yourself for a few minutes.” It wasn’t as if Dean could answer - the gag was still in his mouth. He cupped Dean’s face with a blood slick hand, patting it gently before he rose and turned towards the goons. “Watch the door.”

The men nodded and followed Alastair out of the room, closing the metal door behind them with an echoing clang. It was the first time Dean had been alone since he woke up. He had to make the most of it. He had to call Cas.

He shifted in his seat, pleased by his ever-growing mobility. The drug Alastair had given him was finally wearing off. He could move his tingling limbs within the limits of the restraints holding him down. In his book that was a positive.

Dean was finally able to hit his hip against one of the bars on the chair. He could feel a hard plastic rectangle press into his hip. His phone. They hadn’t found it on him yet. It was a miracle.

He got his left hand through one of the spaces between the bars on the back of the chair. He slipped it into his underwear in an attempt to pull the phone towards his hand, and Dean could say that without a doubt it was the strangest act he had ever done. After swiveling in his seat for a moment he finally got a hold of the iPhone and pulled it out and back behind the chair.

It took even more twisting to get the phone to a place where he could see the screen and still press the buttons. Suddenly, it crossed his mind that without the gag he could have just asked Siri to call Cas. His hatred for Alastair and the stupid sock in his mouth grew immensely. Dean carefully opened his phone and pulled up Cas’s contact info, and when he got the call made on speaker, it seemed like the whole world was on his side.

 _“This Novak,”_ Cas’s gruff and impatient voice answered after a few rings. Dean had never thought he’d be so happy to hear a pissed off Castiel.

It was only then it occurred to Dean that the gag prohibiting him from using Siri would keep him from actually talking to Cas as well. Shit. He tried to say, “It’s Dean,” but all that came out was a jumbled mess. He repeated his name and begged Cas for his help. None of it was intelligible.

There was silence on the other end, but then Cas answered in a soft voice filled with disbelief. _“...Dean?”_

The lock on the door clicked and Dean dropped the phone behind him. Hopefully it wasn’t broken and visible behind his legs. He let out a muffled, “I’m still here,” before the doors opened, and he prayed Cas wouldn’t say anything and would have enough common sense to stay fucking quiet.

Alastair reentered with his goons behind a new man. He brushed something off his dark suit as he came up closer to Dean. Alastair was uncharacteristically passive, choosing to sink into the back of the room. The new man kneeled down to study Dean’s torn body. He carefully brushed the cuts on his face, but unlike with Alastair the touches with soft and careful, and when Dean flinched at the stinging pain he immediately pulled his hand away. His eyes raked over his wounded chests and arms and the blood covering him. The man’s eyes filled with some emotion Dean could only describe as apologetic rage.

“I thought I told you not to cut any exposed skin?”

Alastair cowered in the corner at the man’s words. They were low and sharp as the knives on the table. “He-he wouldn’t shut up,” the man stuttered. “I had to teach him a lesson.”

“And you thought the best way to keep him quiet would be to further harm him?”

“You told me to do whatever I liked and I-”

“And I gave you restrictions you refused to comply to,” the man cut him off. Alastair shrunk farther within himself. There could only be one person who could manipulate Alastair like that: Azazel.

He turned back to Dean, a sympathetic look on his face. “I’m so sorry he did that to you. I hate to see thist face ruined.” He stroked Dean’s cheek again. “You look so much like your mother,” he murmured.

Azazel slowly removed the gag and smiled down him. Dean relished at the new ability to move his jaw. “Why am I here?” he demanded.

He gave a condescending smile. “If we had just left you to your own devices while here you could have tried to run off or hurt us. Alastair suggested we teach you right away what happens to those who disobey. Although he did take it much too far, and, again, I deeply regret all the unnecessary injuries.”

“But why didn’t you kill me already.”

Azazel let out an amused laugh, as if he couldn’t believe Dean would suggest such a thing. “Why would I do that?”

Dean glared at him. “I don’t know. Maybe because you already killed my parents!”

Azazel brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “They were just collateral, and Mary had only been revenge.” He rubbed Dean’s knee in a mock-comforting gesture. “But you,” he purred, “I’ve been waiting to meet for a very long time. We were almost reunited twenty years ago, but John kept you away from me.”

Dean gaped at him in utter shock. “This whole time you’ve been hunting me?”

“Hunting is such a strong word,” he stated, “But yes, it’s you I’ve been looking for.”

“Why?”

Azazel gazed at him reverently. “Because you are the most important thing to me. That’s why I don’t want Alastair to hurt you.” He cupped Dean’s jaw with his hand, still rubbing his knee with the other. “I need you to swear loyalty to me, so I trust you won’t do anything stupid. I _need_ to trust you.”

Dean jerked his head away. “Get away from me you bastard.”

Azazel didn’t look mad. If anything, he just seemed disappointed, like his dad before he disciplined him about not being there for Sammy.

“Now Dean,” he scolded. “That’s no way to talk to your father, now is it?”


	11. Chapter 11

_“Now Dean, that’s no way to talk to your father, now is it.”_

Castiel nearly dropped the phone in his hands. Meg was frozen in place. Dean was Azazel’s son. Or at least Azazel believed it.

 _“What the fuck are you talking about?”_ Dean’s voice was quiet and rushed. He had no idea, either.

_“Your mother’s and my relationship, ending just about eight months after you were born.”_

_“No. No, no.”_

_“Is that really so horrible?”_ Azazel asked. Castiel couldn’t determine if he was mocking Dean or actually confused by his protest.

 _“You’re not my dad,”_ he spat. _“You killed him.”_

_“Only so he would try to keep you from me any longer.”_

_“You’re insane!”_ Dean shouted.

Azazel sighed. _“I didn’t want you to react this way.”_ He made a tsking noise that was getting farther and farther away. _“Such a disappointment.”_

Footsteps echoed on the side of the line. Dean was making strangled noises of protest before he let out an ear-piercing scream. It was wretched and guttural and Castiel felt sick. The screech mixed with the wail of a siren also coming through the phone. Castiel was sure the sound would be ringing in his ears for weeks.

 _“Hey, what’s this,”_ a different voice called out. It sounded like the quiet one protesting earlier in the call, but now much louder and much angrier. Scratching sounds, like plastic on concrete, filled the motel room through the phone’s speakers. _“He’s been making a call.”_

Castiel’s gut instinct was to end the call. There wasn’t anything else they could learn from staying on the line. But he couldn’t run away from Dean or what they were doing to him.

 _“Who is this,”_ Azazel asked calmly. Castiel couldn’t tell if the question was directed at Dean or himself. Neither of them answered.

 _“I know someone’s there.”_ He paused. _“Cas.”_ He must have read the caller id. _“What kind of name is that?”_ Castiel remained silent. He looked to Meg, hoping she would have some idea of how to continue, but she just froze up. Her body was tense and there was a distant look in her eye, like she was far away reliving something. _“Who is it, Dean?”_ he asked, but there was only silence from the other end. Suddenly, the sickening crack of bone crunching again bone was heard, and Dean’s cries rang out. _“Answer me!”_ Azazel shouted.

 _“No one!”_ he yelled back. _“Just this friend I met in I-Iowa a few years back.”_ He was beginning to trip over his words. _“The phone fell out of my pocket and it must have accidentally dialed him. I swear.”_

The other end was quiet for a moment, until Azazel burst into a fit of laughter. It was loud and long and disgusting. _“You really believe I’d fall for a dumb excuse like that?”_

There was more stammering from Dean before he cried out again. Soft sobs echoed through the room, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to kill the men doing this to him.

 _“Cas,”_ Azazel addressed him. The sound of his name on the man’s lips was repulsing. _“I don’t know who you are, but I’m going to assume you’re one of the cops on this case. You can say hi to my daughter for me.”_ Meg’s face grew bright red. _“Now, Dean calling you was his mistake, and trust me, he’s going to learn his lesson, no matter how hard it is more me to give it to him. But I don’t like nosy people getting into my personal business. You or anyone else gets in my way and I’ll unleash hell onto this city. And I think we both know I’m not one to bluff.”_

There was a sound of something hitting the floor - the phone, no doubt. Then Dean let out a gut-wrenching scream and the line went dead. Only the beeping of the disconnected call filled the room.

It had all happened so fast. Castiel had gotten a call from an unknown number after spending most of the day pouring over police records to see if they could find the mole. When he heard the muffled speaker on the other end his blood had gone cold, but at the same time it gave him hope. Dean was alive and crafty enough to make a call let him hear what was happening. But then it had gone entirely downhill. They didn’t even have the means to trace the call to get a location. He had to fix this.

Castiel rose off the bed and grabbed his gun and coat. They might not have a location, but Dean’s call had unknowingly given them a clue.

“What are you doing,” Meg asked as she rose to meet him.

He shoved her gun in her arms. “We need to get to my car.”

“Why?” Castiel was already out the door, and with a groan she hurried to catch up.

He had installed a police radio in his car once he’d become a detective, making it easier for stakeouts and more covert operations. It was sheer luck it that it was going to be useful today. He and Meg slide into the car as he turned the radio on and reached for the mic.

“All units: this is 41. Code 12 - location of all code 3 units five minutes ago.”

Meg grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

“There was siren during that call. If we can get ideas of who was patrolling with the siren on and where-”

“We have places to look,” Meg finished.

The intercom buzzed. _“41: this is 49 in district 2, South Langley Ave,”_ Anna answered, a slight tone of confusion in her voice.

“That’s near highway 90,” Meg mumbled.

Another free came up on the radio, this time competing with a still blaring siren. _“41: it’s 63,”_ Balthazar Roche said through gritted teeth. _“Was on West Madison. Turned on South Michigan heading north.”_

Castiel huffed. “They wouldn’t be downtown.”

 _“41: this is 72,”_ Inias McMorran replied, _“between districts 18 and 19 heading west on Fullerton.”_

“And they wouldn’t be near DePaul, either,” Meg sighed.”

“It still seems like Langley is our best shot.”

They pulled out of the parking lot and starting speeding south towards Grand Boulevard. Another message came through the radio. _“41: this is, um, 91,”_ a high, timid voice spoke.

“Jesus Christ, not Hael,” Meg muttered.

_“Do you need any help, Detective Novak, with whatever it is you’re doing?”_

Castiel sighed and grabbed the mic. “No, Hael, we’re fine.”

Meg snatched the mic out of his hand. “Get off the radio.”

Hael didn’t answer, and eventually the radio cut out on the other end. He turned off the radio and glared at Meg.

“What?”

“You don’t have to be so rude.”

“We’re on a tight schedule,” she replied. Meg wasn’t wrong, and Castiel was itching to get to Dean, but still thought she was rude.

The two rushed to south Chicago, and Castiel could barely contain himself. Every minute past was a minute putting Dean in further danger. The trip down was achingly long. They finally arrived in the area and rolled down streets, attempting to find the abandoned properties. The rows of similar houses were becoming repetitive and dull. Castiel could feel his mind wandering.

He almost missed the house. It was on a corner with an expansive, overgrown lawn and broken chain link fence. Bright graffiti covered the sides of the worn building. Meg had to reach over to stop him from driving by. Castiel pulled over and stared at the building.

“It’s on Langley,” he said simply.

Meg cocked her gun. “I’ll go around back to take out anyone there. Stay here and be ready to move when I get back.”

She moved to exit the car, but Castiel reached out to stop her. “After that?”

Meg pursed her lips. “We make it up as we go along.” She got out and jogged towards to the backside of the house, gun up and ready. Castiel tucked his own in his holster and exited his vehicle, studying the neighborhood around them. The street was next to empty and incredibly quiet. Some one would have heard gunshots or torture methods being used. Wherever Dean was inside, if he was inside, it couldn’t have too sound proofed, otherwise they wouldn’t have heard the siren. It would most likely be underground in the basement.

If he was inside. The phrase swirled around in his head and something in his stomach dropped. He had to be here, had to be. It was the perfect location: large area, abandoned, well hidden in plain sight. This had to be it.

“Detective Novak.”

He spun around to face the voice, utterly confused when he met Hael’s face only a few paces behind him. What was she doing here? “How did you know to come here?” he asked.

She gulped. “I heard your comments in between the reports.”

Castiel didn’t remember having his finger on the mic’s button, but it was something he could have easily pressed. He pushed aside his embarrassment to confront her.

“Hael, get out of here. It’s too dangerous.” He tried pulling her away from the building, but she surprising held her ground. “This is the Demon’s headquarters.”

“No, it’s not,” she snapped, yanking Castiel’s arm off of her. When did Hael become so forceful? “I already checked in there: it’s empty.”

Castiel stared at her, mouth agape. “You went looking for the Demon’s headquarters _without backup_?”

“I was trying to help,” she said indignantly. “You’ve been so busy with the case and I’ve had nothing to do and when you made that announcement I figured, ‘you’re probably looking for their location. I could help,’ ” She sighed. “And it doesn’t even matter. There’s no one in there. No Demons, no Dean, nothing. This isn’t where they have him.”

Castiel couldn’t move. No, this had to be the right spot. It fit perfectly. Anna’s siren would have been heard. He couldn’t have been wrong. He can’t have been wrong.

A hand placed itself on his bicep. “Detective Novak, are you okay?”

Castiel didn’t cry, but if he didn’t get a hold of himself now he might have to retract that statement. They got it wrong, and every second longer they waste is another risking Dean’s life even further. They could search Lincoln park or the loop or even somewhere else entirely, but from what he heard on the phone call Dean would be better protected than ever, and they might just have missed their chance to grab him.

Hael wrapped an arm around his back and lead him towards his car. “It’s okay, Detective Novak. We can look for him somewhere else.”

Something finally clicked inside Castiel. He had never told anyone about Dean’s kidnapping. No one besides Meg knew they had relocated from his house to the motel. And while Hael might have been able to guess he was looking for a Demon location, there was no way she would have known Dean was with them.

Clarity washed over him: Hael’s interest in helping him, but inability to get Mary’s files and desperate attempt to get him away from the house. And she was at the precinct the night of John’s murder.

He couldn’t let her know he knew she was the mole. Castiel let her lead him to the car, determined to grab his gun and turn on her when he could get her away from the house. But when he pushed her aside to grab it, his hands wrapped around an empty holster under his trench coat. He looked up to see Hael aiming it at him. Her eyes were wide and jaw trembling.

Castiel slowly raised his arms to his head, careful to not make any rash movements. “Hael,” he said calmly. “You don’t have to do this.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “You act like I have a choice.”

“Yes, you do,” he insisted.

“I would rather go to prison for shooting you than face them if I let you inside.”

“Hael,” he gulped. Castiel’s breathing quickened as he stared down the barrel of the gun. His palms were slick against his head.

She shook her head. “I can’t let them hurt my family.”

“Hael, please!”

“I’m so sorry, Detective Novak.”

The boom from the bullet leaving the barrel could be heard down the block. Birds scattered at the sound, and their wasn’t any doubt in Castiel’s mind the neighbors would be rushing to their windows to see what happened. The noise rang in his ears. He quickly accepted it as the last sound he would ever hear. But then nothing happened to him. There was no pain from a small metal bullet tearing through his body or the feel of blood gushing out. He was fine.

Hael collapsed to the ground with a scream, dropping the gun so she could cradle her leg. Castiel was frozen in place as he witnessed Meg run up to kick the .40 out of her reach and put pressure on her wound.

“Do you have any handcuffs in the car?” she asked, still staring Hael down.

It took Castiel a second to come back to reality. “What?”

“Handcuffs,” she repeated. “Do you have them?”

He nodded and hurried to the car to grab them from the glove box. When he got back, Meg was already ripping Hael’s shirt and tying it around the injury on her leg. Blood immediately created a dark circle, but no one really cared. Meg took the cuffs in hand and snapped them around her wrists.

“Hael Phipps, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.” Castiel didn’t miss the almost unnoticeable smirk on her lips. She dragged Hael to her feet. “I never liked you,” she whispered as she shoved Hael into the backseat of the car. Meg reached over to the front seat, turned on the radio and grabbed the mic.

“All units: this is 41. Code 12 - We’ve got an arrest with injured person and lost person found. Requesting backup.”

She threw the mic down on the seat and slammed the door as she head back toward Castiel.

“Do you think she’ll be fine in the car,” he asked as he picked up his gun.

Meg shrugged. “She can’t do anything and I already called backup.”

Castiel nodded. The both put their guns up and started making their way into the house. Castiel was coming for Dean.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean could barely keep his eyes open. His entire body was screaming in pain. His mind was foggy from blood loss. Everything was going in and out of focus and black was rimming the edges of his vision. But he could let himself pass out. For the first time he worried that if he went under he’d wake up again.

He couldn’t even enjoy the first real time he had alone. The guards had all left, rushing out of the room to go check some noise made somewhere else in his prison. The door was locked in front of him, leaving only the flickering lights, table of knives, and his own wounds to entertain him.

The sound of the door bursting open echoed through the room. “Dean!”

That was funny. His hallucinations had never talked before. He tried to laugh, but through the gag it came out closer to a strangled sob. Cas was standing in the doorway, horror scrawled across his face. And there was some girl behind him. It looked kinda like Meg. Why would he see the bitch that killed his dad?

The Cas hallucination rushed towards him, kneeling down and placing his hands on the sides of Dean’s face. This was wrong: the others never moved toward him or touched him or even showed emotion. _Cas_ never showed emotion unless it was anger. It had to be a trick. Dean tried angling his face away from the thing’s hands, shouting “No” through the gag, but Cas held on and stroked his face. The vision started murmuring, too quiet for Dean to actually tell what it was saying, as he tried to calm Dean down.

His hallucination gingerly removed the gag, still gaping at him with those big blue eyes. Dean could see the tears threatening to flow over. It couldn’t be Cas. Cas wouldn’t have cared so much.

As if reading his mind, it spoke to him. “Dean, it’s me. Cas. Are you okay?”

Dean didn’t know if he could respond to that, so he just gave a quick nod.

“Meg, find something to cut the ties.”

She nodded and went to the table, picking up one of the more serrated knives and came back towards them. Dean started screaming. “No! Get her away from me!” He wasn’t entirely sure this was a hallucination anymore, but he didn’t want Meg anywhere near him in case he found out.

Castiel tried to quiet him again, caressing his face and whispering, “Shh, it’s okay. She’s not going to hurt you. She’s not the mole. We already caught them. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Dean still didn’t trust her, but he stopped yelling and thrashing in his seat. Meg carefully came around behind him and slipped the knife between the plastic ties and his skin. He could feel the cool blade tauntingly rub against his skin with every sawing motion she made. Dean knew she was going to cut him, betray him. Or maybe this was all still in his head and no matter how hard she tried the ties would still be there. It was getting harder and harder to think clearly.

With one final cut the pressure on his wrist became lax. Dean warily moved his limbs, still stiff from injuries and being tied back for so long, and it felt like fire was coursing through his veins, but he could _move_.

Meg leaned down to cut the ties connecting his ankles to the legs of the chair. Dean tried to lean forward slightly, but he didn’t have enough strength to keep his body up, and he found himself collapsing into Castiel. The man let out a slight “oomph” at the contact, but didn’t dare to move away or push Dean back. Cas’s arms wrapped around his back to steady him, and he started rubbing slow, soothing circles on his skin, just like he had the night they went to the motel. And just like that night he melted into the touch, savoring every stroke.

“What happened to you?” Cas said under his breath. Dean couldn’t tell if he was talking to him or not, but he put his left arm around Cas’s neck in response. He had to hold back a whimper from the pain, but it was worth it to feel Cas smile against his neck.

“Done,” Meg announced as she backed away from the chair. Dean slowly moved his right leg and a part of him couldn’t believe it. But when he tried the left leg, pain spiked through him, starting by his knee and shooting through the rest of his body. He clutched at Cas’s neck.

“What’s wrong?” Cas leaned back to look Dean in the face. A hand went to rest on Dean’s arm.

He could feel his eyes watering from the stinging pain. “My leg,” Dean breathed. “And my shoulder.” The wound from Alastair’s knife still hadn’t healed, and now he was losing feeling in the arm altogether.

Cas stared at him. He probably didn’t know what to say. What finally came out was, “Okay.” He rose to his feet and gently reached for Dean’s upper body, guiding him into a standing position. “Here,” he murmured as he placed his arm around Dean’s body and let him fall into his side. Every movement shot bursts of pain and nausea throughout his body, but Dean was willing to endure it if that meant Cas would get him out.

“Meg, cover us,” Cas ordered. She nodded and cocked her gun. Meg scanned the hallway outside the room, her arms extended and ready to fire, before signaling for them to follow. Castiel helped Dean hobble out of his torture chamber. His injuries were making it impossible to go at even a regular walking pace, and Dean was sure they were going to get caught and killed because of it. He lurched at the idea of Cas dying in front of him. The man’s arms tightened their grip on him and Dean leaned into him. He couldn’t let that happen.

Dean tried to pick up the pace. Every inch of his body was on fire, screaming at him to cease all movement and lie down. He couldn’t. He had to get him and Cas out of here. He had to get them to safety.

They slowly got up the stairs and entered an expansive room filled with a maze of old furniture, ripped pieces of drywall and wooden beams, and boxes stacked to the ceiling. Dean could see the last rays of golden sunlight streaming in through the broken windows covered with flimsy curtains. For a while he was worried he’d never see sunlight again.

A shot rang out in the old building. Meg hit the deck and Cas lowered him to the floor. There backs were against an old bookshelf erected near the middle of the room.

“What a surprise,” Azazel’s sickeningly calm voice called out. “I didn’t expect to see my daughter here today.”

Daughter? Dean could hear Meg’s breath quicken Azazel’s words. Or maybe it was just his own. His vision clouded for a moment and he had to blink to get it back into focus. Meg shifted beside him. He slowly turned his head to the side just in time to see Meg round the corner of line of furniture they were cowering behind.

“And you must be Cas,” Azazel continued. “I was hoping you would have better listening.” The sound of another gun cocking and firing echoed through the room. Someone was with him - Alastair, probably. “This is going to be interesting.

Dean heard three shots ring out in successive order, followed by the sound of two bodies hitting the floor. Pounding footsteps against old wood floorboards echoed in his ears until the faded away. “I’ll handle Rachel, get them,” Azazel ordered before another set of steps exited the room.

Alastair’s nauseating laugh filled Dean’s ears. His body was trembling, and even Cas reaching for his hand couldn’t calm him down. They were going to die.

“You’ve been a bad boy, Deano,” he sneered. “You’re gonna pay for trying to leave. Watch Cassie over there bleed out slowly and painfully. Could take over a day.”

The footsteps were getting closer, and if they didn’t act soon both would be toast. Cas, in a moment either astounding bravery or utter stupidity, let go of Dean’s hand and leaned around the corner. He got a couple of shots, but the footsteps were still getting closer and Cas was completely exposed. Before Dean could pull him back, Cas froze completely and fell into Dean. He couldn’t breathe but still needed to scream out in pain from the weight of the contact. He shoved Cas off of him. The man’s eyes were glassy and his skin was glistening and his body was beginning to tremble. Dean’s eyes scanned Cas until they fell onto the dark red patch staining his crisp white shirt, growing with every second.

Dean’s brain short-circuited. Cas was dead. Cas was going to die in front of him and Alastair was going to win. This couldn’t happen. He’d already lost his mom and his dad. Dean was not losing Cas. He couldn’t.

Alastair was almost on top of them. Dean didn’t think; he just grabbed Cas’s gun, now lying lazily in his hand, and with his good arm pointed it at the entrance to their hiding spot. He scooted back into the shadows, hoping, praying, he could hide and the man would go past him. But he wasn’t that lucky. Alastair rounded the corner, Dean closed his eyes, and a metallic crack rang in his ears.

Dean didn’t remember pulling the trigger. Maybe it was a reflex or just some innate understanding of what to do when a gun is in your hands. Dean didn’t think he’d ever truly know. No matter what it was, it surprised him, and when the shot was heard he opened his eyes.

The image of pure disbelief on Alastair’s face was burned into his retinas.  Dean hadn’t been aiming for anywhere lethal - he hadn’t been aiming at all - but he was sure both he and Alastair were dumbfounded by the expanding red blotch over the man’s heart. He stumbled back into a wall of cardboard boxes that with him came crashing down. And although he twitched slightly and made a gagging noise for a minute, Alastair never got back up.

The gun fell out of Dean’s hands. The realization that he killed somebody washed over him. He was gonna be sick.

“Dean,” a familiar voiced choked out. He looked down to see Cas reach out lace his hand with Dean’s bad one. His face was twisted with pain, but it was his eyes Dean latched on to. They were soft despite the clear worry behind them. “It’s okay.”

It really wasn’t. A man was dead, they were both bleeding out, and as the adrenaline high of fear subsided Dean finally felt the scorching pain re enter his body. But for some reason, gazing at Cas’s eyes, he almost believed things were.

He worked through the pain to squeeze Cas’s palm and proceeded to collapse to the ground. Dean reached over to lay his hand on Cas’s wound, hoping the slight pressure would help. The two lay in silence on the wooden floor. The only sound was their breathing and the far away shout coming for Meg or Azazel. Dean wasn’t one for praying, but he wished the other battle would stay far away from them. Neither one was able to move.

At one point the gunshots stopped entirely, but neither Meg nor Azazel came to greet them. Dean was having a harder and hard time staying awake. A large part of him kept pushing him to close his eyes and forget the pain. He would definitely be better than the constant suffering he currently felt. And Dean was weak and tired.

The last thing he remembered was the sound of sirens blaring outside and Cas’s whispers of “We’re okay, Dean. We’re going to be okay.”


	13. Chapter 13

Dean had a broken leg, fractured on the calf near the knee, and bruised rib near his heart. The nerves and connective tissue in his right shoulder were damaged, but with proper physical therapy he should regain full movement. He was severely dehydrated and malnourished, and when he arrived at the hospital the doctors had to force-feed him to keep him alive. He had lost near two liters of blood and while they were able to complete a transfer it wouldn’t be easily forgotten that Dean Winchester had only been a few cuts away from bleeding to death. There was nothing to do for the scars that now littered his body. In the future he would probably cling to long sleeves year around and be terrified of being topless in front of anyone, and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it. The doctors didn’t know when he would wake up, and while he was stable after over 6 hours of operations, there still wasn’t a guarantee he would.

The list of injuries ran through Castiel’s mind on a loop as he waiting for Dean to come to. He refused to entertain the thought that he wouldn’t. If the past few days had proved anything, it was that Dean was a fighter and would get through anything, even near death.

Castiel hadn’t left the hospital since they had pried his unconscious body off of his own and carried him away on a different truck. He had been forced into his own ambulance, but not without a fight. He griped and groaned the entire ride over, only to find out his “wound needing immediate medical attention” was nothing more than a graze and only had to be sanitized and patched up.

They wouldn’t let him into the operating room, which he expected but still stung. Dean’s life had been on the line and no one would tell him anything. He hadn’t been able to sit still, to eat. The only distraction he got was when an officer had pulled him aside to fill out paperwork for the incident. It was tedious, but at least it helped organize his mind and gave him something to do. The task also finally informed him of the final outcome between Meg and Azazel. She delivered a non-fatal shot to disarm him. Officers picked him, along with Hael, up and both were in a cell waiting to be sent to prison. Things could have turned out worse.

He glanced over at the sleeping form of Dean, hooked up to tubes and wires pushing air in and out of him and monitoring every steady heartbeat. Things could have turned out much worse.

It had been close to two days since they had been taken to the hospital and Dean still wasn’t awake. Castiel hadn’t left his side since he was given access to him. The staff was fairly nice, or at least they understood that no matter what they did they weren’t going to separate the two. Having a badge on him probably helped as well. The spare bed in the cramped room had unofficially been given to Castiel and they had yet to kick him out.

The quiet beeping of the monitor filled the space. It was still an alien concept to see so much machinery attached to Dean. The sight only made Castiel remember that it was his fault Dean was so broken and torn. He studied the cut up and bruised facing, knowing that he could have prevented it if he had tried harder.

“What? I don’t even get a hello?”

He hadn’t even heard Meg enter the room. It was strange to see her in street clothes, trading her blouses and pencil skirts for faded jeans and a leather jacket. She didn’t seem younger or anything of that sort, but it helped mask the bags under her eyes due to exhaustion and lines of stress starting to form.

“How are you, Meg,” he asked softly.

She shrugged. “About as good as you could do after hours of paper work and an excruciatingly painful meeting with Naomi.”

Castiel winced. A meeting with the captain was never a positive. “Dare I ask what she said?”

“I’m fired.” He gave her a sympathetic hum. “Apparently the police don’t like it when you steal an identity to join their ranks.” A slightly bitter laugh escaped her lips, and Castiel couldn’t help but crack an apologetic smile as well. Once he found out who she really was, Castiel knew there was no way she was staying on the force. “The bright side is that if I cooperate with recording all my knowledge about my father and the Demons, I don’t have to go to prison.”

“Naomi got you that deal?” he asked incredulously. She nodded, a small smile forming on her lips. “That’s great.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “So what are you going to do now?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know,” she said in all earnest. “But I was thinking of maybe going to school to become a nurse.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Nurse Masters?”

“What? You can’t see me in one of those cute white dress and stupid hats?”

“I believe the more appropriate attire are different patterned scrubs.”

“And I’ll still look sexy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you will, Meg.”

She slapped him lightly across the shoulder. “Oh, Clarence, I love it when you sweet talk me.”

Castiel looked down and smiled. He really was going to miss Meg.

“Thank you,” he finally said.

“For what?”

“For everything,” he looked up at her. “We did this together and I know how hard it must have been to arrest your father-”

“Don’t worry about that,” she cut him off. “He stopped really being my father years ago.”

He nodded and silence passed between them.

“You know, Naomi also talked about you,” he stated.

“Let me guess: I’m fired.”

Meg shook her head. “No, actually.” Castiel’s eyebrows rose at the statement. That was a surprise. He withheld evidence, shot an officer, and went on a private mission without the precinct’s approval or knowledge. If Castiel were captain he would have fired himself. “You’re being put on immediate mandatory leave.” That made more sense. “But Tapping told me to tell you that there’s a good shot that’ll you’ll get a promotion when you come back.”

He must not have seemed as excited as he should have been. Meg’s face fell and she studied him in confusion. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, it’s just...” He sighed. “After everything that’s happened, I’m not entirely sure I want to continue doing this.”

She stared at him. “You love your job.”

“But not when I let people get hurt.” He couldn’t even look at Meg. “I left Dean on his own and he paid the consequences.”

Meg didn’t respond right away, and instead got up to stand directly in front of Castiel and force him to look her in the eye. “I don’t know how you got this mixed up in your head, but if it wasn’t for you, Dean would still be with the Demons and they would have gotten away with everything. So get your head out of your ass and realize you’re good at what you do and not everything is your fault.”

There was a moment of silence before Castiel couldn’t hold back the smile from forming on his lips. Meg mirrored the expression.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged. “It’s what I do.” She chuckled softly. “I gotta get going. Last paperwork ever.” She glanced over at Dean’s frozen form. “He’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.”

Castiel got up and hugged Meg. He didn’t know when they’d be able to see each other again, but he prayed it wouldn’t be too long.

“See you around, Clarence,” she mumbled into his neck.

“Goodbye, Meg.”

She let go, giving him one final farewell wave, before she exited the room and turned down the corridor. And Castiel was left alone.

It was a few hours later, after endless rereads of trashy magazines and staring off into space, when Castiel heard sputtering coming from Dean’s bed. The man was coming to. In an instant Castiel was by his side, hands clutching Dean’s.

His green eyes flew open as he coughed and gasped for breath through the tube. His limbs were spastic. There was obvious fear in his eyes. He didn’t know where he was.

“Dean, Dean, shh it’s okay,” Castiel whispered, stroking his hair. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

He stopped thrashing, but still eyed the room in suspicion. “Where am I?” He narrowed his eyes at the distortion the mask over his mouth caused.

“The hospital. You had to go through surgery, but everything’s fine now.” Dean was alive and awake. To Castiel, that meant everything was fine.

Dean scrunched his brow as Castiel removed the mask. “Surgery?” But as soon as he said the word his face fell agape and realization dawned in his eyes. His body began shaking again. “Azazel and Alastair?”

“The former arrested and the latter... dead.” There was no point in lying to him.

His head sunk into the pillow. “I killed someone.” His voice was quiet and trembling.

Castiel shook his head. “It was self defense. You fit all the qualifications for it.”

“He’s still dead!”

“And you did nothing wrong.” He forced Dean to look at him. “Alastair was going to kill me and probably you. You tried to escape. You couldn’t. You took action to protect yourself.” He paused, trying to find the right words. “It didn’t end as it should have, but that is not your fault.”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “Am I gonna go to jail?” It reminded Castiel of their talk on the first night at his house when Dean reveal his criminal record and was terrified of being sentence. It was hard to believe that was less than a week ago.

“No.” Perhaps that was unlawful or immoral of him. But Castiel wasn’t going to let Dean go to prison for saving their lives. “Besides,” he added, “if I had done a better job of protecting you, there wouldn’t have been this situation in the first place.”

Dean didn’t answer, and for a moment Castiel was afraid he was going to agree with him. Not that he didn’t deserve it.

“We both screwed up,” he stated. “No point in acting like the other is a saint.” Dean didn’t have a smile on his face, but his eyes had softened considerably. He understood what he meant.

“How are feeling, Dean,” Castiel moved on. “Physically? Emotionally?”

Dean let out a sour laugh. “Well, I think you can see how I’m doing physically.” He looked down at his broken body. “What did the doc say?”

“Cast on the leg for a few months, physical therapy on the arm, and plenty of bed rest. If you do that you should be fine.” Dean nodded and stared up at the plastered ceiling. “And emotionally?” Castiel prompted.

He sighed. “I don’t want to talk about what Alastair did.” His voice was rough and sharp and fear seeped out with every word. Castiel gripped his hand a little tighter. “Maybe one day. But not now.”

Castiel rubbed circles into the back of his hand, hoping that would give some comfort. Both men were silent for a moment. “What about what Azazel said,” he pushed. Dean looked away and wouldn’t answer him. Castiel wished he could understand he wasn’t doing this for his own benefit but for _Dean’s._ He needed to know where he stood emotionally so he could get the help he needed and deserved. “We could always do a paternity test,” he offered. “It wouldn’t be too hard.”

“No,” Dean answered forcefully. He turned back to face Castiel. “I know who my dad is, no matter what a piece of paper says or not.” Castiel nodded.

“I need some water,” Dean mumbled as he tried to sit up, but he couldn’t get more than a few inches before he collapsed back against the bed in pain. Castiel stroked his arm, not sure how to make him feel better without pumping in more medication. He grabbed the cup of water he’d been drinking and, gently lifting Dean’s head up, poured him the cup.

“You need to be careful,” he chided, but there was no real malice in his voice. “You bruised a rib and there are stitches across your body.”

Dean shrugged him off as Castiel returned the cup to the bedside table. “Tis but a scratch,” he groaned. “I’ve had worse.” Castiel gave him a blank, which Dean returned by gawking at him. “You’ve never seen Monty Python?”

“Who?”

Dean looked positively scandalized. “Okay, first thing we do when we get home is watch the movie. You’re going to love it.”

He beamed up at Castiel, but the man was only stunned. “You want to willingly live with me?”

A deep red blush appeared on Dean’s cheeks. Castiel had never seen something so beautiful. “Well, I mean, if you don’t want me too that’s cool, but I don’t really have a home and I don’t want to move all the way out to California - oh man, I should probably call Sam - anyway, I actually really enjoyed hanging out with you, but if you don’t want me around that’s fine, its just-”

“Dean,” Castiel stopped him, “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me when this was over.”

Dean bit down on his lip. “Honestly,” he murmured, “there’s nothing more I would rather do.”

It occurred to Castiel that his hand was still cradling Dean’s head and somehow their hands become entwined again and that he was really leaning over Dean so that their faces were only a few inches apart. As Castiel caught Dean glancing down at his lips, he realized there was nothing he’d rather do than be with him.

Dean’s lips were slightly chapped and cut, but Castiel didn’t care as he gently pressed his mouth on Dean’s. He couldn’t help the smile that formed when their lips began moving together, sliding and sucking and nipping at the other. The hand under Dean’s head came down to stroke the few days old stumble lining his jaw. Castiel could feel his need to touch and frustration that he really couldn’t, but Dean squeezed his hand and wouldn’t let go.

Castiel eventually had to pull away. He gazed at Dean from above and was forced to retract an earlier statement: Dean, with flushed cheeks and swollen lips and pupils blown wide, had never been more beautiful.

“Please stay,” he whispered. “With me.” Dean could only nod a response as he smiled up at Castiel.

Their gaze was broken by a yawn from Dean. Castiel sheepishly removed his weight from on top of Dean. “I believe you need some rest,” he said sheepishly.

“Yeah, I think so, too,” he yawned. “You better be here when I wake up.”

Castiel’s smile widened. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Dean fell asleep soon after that, snoring slightly and hand-clutching Castiel’s as he sat beside him. Castiel had never been happier.


	14. Epilogue

Dean hated the courthouse. There were too many echoes and too many people constantly around him. Not to mention the ugly wooden walls and garish lighting. Every time he entered Dean could feel his body tensing and his breathing quicken. He thought that after so many required visits and hearings and testimonies he would have gotten over it, but it seemed that he was always going to hate it.

A steady hand gripped his own, grounding Dean in the moment. He looked up to meet familiar blue eyes. Dean didn’t know what he would do without Cas. In the past few years the man had become his entire world, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“How are you holding up?” Cas asked earnestly.

Dean forced a smile. “I’m fine. Last one, huh?” Cas nodded and squeezed his hand a little tighter.

“You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to.”

He shook his head. “I already did the hard stuff. I can do this.”

Cas leaned over and pressed his lips against Dean’s. It was chaste and quick, but Dean still melted into the touch.

“Alright, break it up, lovebirds.”

They pulled apart at the sound of Meg’s sarcastic drawl. Cas beamed at her through his blush, but Dean still apprehensive. He had gotten past the fact that she had been part of the Demon’s for most of her life, but he still wasn’t sure how to process the idea that she could be his biological half sister. It wasn’t something either of them wanted to bring up.

“You two ready?” she asked.

Cas nodded and the trio headed inside the courtroom. It contained the same horrible lighting and ugly paneling, but now he was in the same room as Azazel again. Granted, he was a few rows in front of them, shackled and handcuffed and looking straight ahead, but Dean couldn’t miss the bright orange jumpsuit and superior-than-you posture.

His heartbeat quickened and breathing became shallow at the sight, and Dean hated himself for being so affected by the sight of the man because all he wanted to do was run as far away as he could. He knew that made him a coward and he couldn’t understand why Cas would want to deal with something as broken as him. Cas was a saint, and Dean would forever appreciate that this man, for whatever reason, wanted to take care of him. Without a word he pulled Dean closer to him and started to rub smooth circles into his skin and murmur words of comfort in his ear.

It was a few more minutes before the judge entered with the jurors. “Will the defense please rise?”

Azazel, along with his lawyers, stood behind their desk. The man turned around to flash a smile at the observers and locked eyes with Dean. His eyes weren’t cocky or angry, just disappointed, like when he’d found out Dean had made the call in that room.

Dean froze completely. Memories of knives and sadistic smiles and the smell of blood crashed through him, just like it had at nights when he woke Cas up with his screams or the first year where he wouldn’t go near knives or even when he walked into a room where the lighting wasn’t right. He yanked down at his suit jacket sleeves, covering the scars that still canvassed his body.

He had been forced to show them during his testimony. Put up in front of Azazel, Cas, Meg, and countless people he didn’t even know to show them just how broken he really was. He had even fully explained everything to Cas when he had been forced to go up on the stand. He could hardly look at his partner, and all there was left was to stare at the snake who had only smirked at his misery. At least the prosecution had been on his side. The defense kept trying to discredit him, saying he had been the one to cut himself, that his dad obviously had been the one to kill his mom, that he was nothing but a criminal and shouldn’t be protected by the police. After that he wouldn’t let go of Cas for nearly two days.

“It’s okay,” Cas whispered in his ear. “I’m here. He can’t do anything to hurt you. You’re okay.” He pushed himself further into Cas’s arms, not caring if it looked strange. He needed this.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“Yes, your honor,” the forewoman answered as she rose to address the room, the list of rulings in her hands. Dean held his breath.

“For the first degree murder of Mary Winchester, the court finds the defendant guilty.”

Dean completely collapsed into Cas and he could finally breathe. His mom’s case was finally closed and her murderer was going to prison. Nearly twenty-three years of work paid off. That was the main victory.

“For the first degree murder of John Winchester, the court finds the defendant guilty. For the kidnapping of Dean Winchester, the court finds the defendant guilty. For the accusation of physical harm against Dean Winchester, the court finds the defendant guilty. For the attempted murder of Castiel Novak, the court finds the defendant guilty.”

Dean didn’t even hear how long his sentence was going to be. It didn’t matter. Cas smiled against his shoulder, wrapping his arms tighter around Dean’s middle. “We won,” he whispered in Dean’s ear. In a way they did. Azazel was never going to get out of prison. He and Cas were going to be safe. But he only needed to look down at his scarred skin or visit his parent’s graves to know that it wasn’t a complete victory.

Cas brushed something away from under his eyes and Dean gasped for breath and he didn’t even realize he’d started crying, but now he couldn’t stop and he clutched onto Cas’s arm because that’s all he could do. The session ended. Azazel was led out and back to prison. People got up and exited. Meg at one point must have left. And all that was left was Dean leaning into Cas, his eyes read and body trembling.

He kissed the top of Dean’s head. “I’m so proud of you.”

“For crying in court?” he asked bitterly.

“You came in here and faced him. You testified, you looked him in the eye, and it was that work that got him locked away forever. It’s fine that you’re emotional.”

Dean didn’t respond to that. Cas was always trying to get him to think that breaking down and having panic attacks was okay. Maybe one day he’d actually start to believe it.

He stroked Dean’s arm. “What do you want to do?”

“Can we just go home and lay down for a while?”

Cas nodded and helped get the two of them into standing position. Before leaving Cas took Dean’s face in his hands and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “I love you so much.”

Dean could feel his face growing hot and he couldn’t help the embarrassed smile that formed on his lips, which only cause Cas to beam back at him. “I love too.”

Cas grabbed his hand and led him outside the courtroom room for the last time. Soon they would be in their comfy home and warm bed. His life wasn’t perfect by any means, and Dean was nowhere near perfect either, but his mother’s killer was in prison, he had Cas, and for once everything was going to be okay.

 

 

 


End file.
